After the Storm
by Fire Eagle
Summary: Legolas was the pride of his father's heart until a terrible event maims his mind and soul, possibly forever. Aragorn was escaping a world where he felt he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.
1. Riding in the Rain

Summery: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.  
  
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…   
  
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks are in this font for easier reading.This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.  
  
Enough gibberish, on with the story!!!  
  
  
  
After the Storm  
  
Chapter One: Riding in the Rain  
  
It was very dark.   
  
Not the sky, for the sun had at least half of an hour before it would set.   
  
No, Aragorn decided as Thalion galloped across the land. This was a different kind of dark, a feeling of sickening dread that was slowly spreading from his mind to the tips of his fingers, forcing his hands to tremble slightly as his emotions threatened to send tears to his eyes and his heart already sobbed in pain.  
  
Nothing felt right here.  
  
His body wanted to go back to what was once his home, and at the same moment his mind pleaded to keep going. One thought pound into his skull.  
  
Elrond.  
  
The wise, kind Elf who had been like a father to him for all of the life he had lived. For all of the lie he had lived. But that part of his life was gone, mayhap for eternity.   
  
He did not wince as Elladan's screams echoed through his head, followed by Elrohir's cries. Aragorn could care less when Elrond's own calls to him repeated themselves.   
  
All that the Ranger could care about was the sheer rage inside of him, the painful flames that lashed inside of him, and the cold voice in his ears that whispered," They lied, Aragorn. They always have, and now you cannot trust them any longer."  
  
He wanted to ride forever into the distance, wanted to bury the fantasy world of his childhood in the dusts of time as their voices filled his mind.  
  
"Estel! Come back to us, Estel!"  
  
He would leave his false name behind as well, for what hope was there in his future? What possible light could shine when all he felt was doom and uselessness?   
  
Aragorn entered his father's library, smiling widely.  
  
"You wished to speak with me, Father?"  
  
The Elven lord looked weary, as if he had aged overnight. Lines traced across his forehead and the corners of his mouth. He attempted to smile for his foster child, failing miserably.  
  
"Sit, Estel."  
  
He motioned to a chair with a long arm. Aragorn sat carefully, his brow furrowed slightly in concern.  
  
"Is something burdening you, Father?"  
  
Elrond sighed, rubbing his temples.  
  
"Aye, my son. It seems like only yesterday Elladan and Elrohir came back from their travels with the sorrowful words of your true father's death, and the small child that would grow to be a strong, brave Man."  
  
Here he paused, sitting in a chair opposite his son. He took his calloused hand slowly into his own.  
  
"And on this your birthing day, you have indeed become a strong, great Man. And it grieves me deeply to ask any more of you, had I not promised to tell you of your heritage and your labors ahead. Your destiny."  
  
Aragorn was very confused.  
  
"What is this that you speak of?" he whispered.  
  
"You are the son of Arathorn, Estel,"Elrond answered.  
  
"Nay, not Estel, but Aragorn. You are to struggle to reclaim Gondor. You are to be King."  
  
Storm clouds gathered in the sky, the dark mists mirroring Aragorn's heart. The winds picked up, forcing the trees to creak and moan as their great limbs swayed. So intent was the Man on riding as far away from Imladris as possible, he did not hear the heavy stomps of Orc in the distance until a raucous cry pierced the air.   
  
Thalion reared, forcing Aragorn to grip the reins with all of his might to keep from falling to the hard ground, his muscles bulging with the effort. By the time his horse had both pairs of feet on the earth, they were facing their enemy, and Aragorn could now see that he was overwhelmed by his attackers, forty to one.   
  
There was still a great distance between he and the ominous Orc wave as of yet. Aragorn removed his bow from his shoulder, notching an arrow to let it fly into one foul neck.   
  
Pleased with his aim, although the bow was never his best weapon, Aragorn fired in faster procession, killing ten Orcs ere his enemy met up with him and charged.  
  
He abandoned his bow, drawing his sword from its hilt. With a fierce cry, he leapt from Thalion's strong back, cleaving an Orc's head from its body, releasing his anger on the beasts before him.   
  
A scimitar swung at his head. Cutting the hands from his enemy, he then stabbed its heart, yanking his sword back out to behead the Orc at his side. Aragorn kept tirelessly hacking at his opponents, not caring about the stench of the black blood spraying over his body, nor for the pair of gently glowing eyes that watched him from the trees.   
  
His fury grew, along with a sickening pleasure to hear his adversaries cry out in their harsh tongues cries of defeat.  
  
"Aye," he whispered coldly. "Beg for mercy! Beg for death!"  
  
When merely ten Orcs remained, Aragorn had felt a sense of victory until an arrow shot into his shoulder. From the moment it pierced his flesh, Aragorn knew it was poisoned.  
  
The Man bit his lip in pain, not going to encourage his remaining foes with a declaration of weakness.   
  
He was bitter, he was peerless, he was the Lord of Ice, he was…  
  
"Weak, Aragorn. Weak like Isildur."  
  
Startled, the Ranger left an opening at his side, emitting a soft cry when a blade plunged between his ribs, pulling the Orcs into a sickening frenzy.  
  
Aragorn was suddenly aware of the pain at his side, the numbing anguish in his shoulder, the cold rain pelting his damp face, and most of all, his weariness.   
  
Fighting harder in disgust, he managed to kill the rest of the Orcs in his sight before sinking to his knees in exhaustion. He smiled slightly. Everything would be fine now. He only needed to treat his wounds before going to sleep…  
  
Two great claws dug mercilessly into his shoulders. Aragorn screamed his fury, turning with his sword in hand to face the largest Orc he had ever seen, drawing two large swords into its black, filthy palms.  
  
It roared in triumph as it swung its weapons down. Aragorn leapt sideways, gasping for breathe. He stabbed the beast in its leg, knowing his enemy could not feel it.   
  
The Orc sliced Aragorn's own thigh, sending forth spurts of red blood. The Man cried out in anguish, placing a last small wound on the giant monster before sinking to his knees to accept the inevitable stroke that would be his death as his vision blurred.  
  
Yet it never came.   
  
Instead, a deafening howl filled the air, and the thud of a massive body meeting its end.  
  
Aragorn opened the eyes he did not know he had closed. A hazy figure stood before him, slipping a gentle, warm hand under his chin as it knelt.   
  
The Man nodded his head in admittance before his world went black.  
  
So, what do you think? Kind of short, I know… Please review!!!!! 


	2. Mystery Savior

Summery: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.  
  
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…   
  
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.  
  
  
  
After the Storm  
  
Chapter Two: Mystery Savior  
  
//Aragorn could only stare blankly at his father, absorbing the shock of it all.  
  
"No," he croaked, voice hoarse. "It cannot be!"  
  
Elrond sighed, his hand coming to rest on Aragorn's shoulder.  
  
"I apologize. I should have told you sooner, but surely you can see why we gave you your false name? Imagine, if you will, a young child strutting through the woods, announcing to mere strangers that he is Isildur's heir?"  
  
The young adult shook slightly.  
  
This had to be a falsehood.  
  
Elrond never lies…  
  
He gave the Man a small, close lipped smile, in what was clearly a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, which failed horrifically.  
  
Estel withdrew his hand, clenching it in an angry fist behind his back.  
  
"Surely you understand, ion nin? I did not want to burden you so early on in life, and so I waited until you grew into a Man."  
  
Yes, father. I understand perfectly, he thought coldly.  
  
Aragorn wanted to shout at his father, to demand why such an important part of his life had been kept so secret for so long.  
  
He needed to release the anger that was building up in his body. He could feel it thrashing against his calm façade as he stared at the smiling, collected face before him. His rage was burning now; he could taste warm blood in his mouth as he bit his tongue. It was painful to keep his fury in for any longer…//  
  
The Ranger screamed as raw agony shot through his existence, feeling as the Sun Herself had fallen onto his body.  
  
Hot sweat poured down his quaking form as he thrashed and moaned in sheer torment.  
  
All that he could see was shadow, and all that he could feel was evil. It was harsh, unmerciful labor to gasp in the humid air, for it felt like sharp knives were being stabbed through his chest and the sides of his throat clung to each other in a death grip.  
  
He could not move his body at all and his pleas for aid seemed to fall on deaf ears, introducing him to a horrid new form of helplessness.  
  
"It's all over now, foolish mortal. Your time has come…"  
  
He knew this, and he did not care any longer. What was left to live for? Who was out there who still held love for him? Who was left to befriend him?  
  
In death there was no pain to wrack his body as it did now. Mayhap it would be for the best in the end.  
  
With his path decided, he ceased fighting the shadows, welcoming the comforting blackness of oblivion.  
  
As he felt his spirit drift far above his body, a soft voice floated down to him, singing words that his dying mind could not follow.  
  
Please, who is singing so fair?  
  
"Do not listen," the dark one hissed. "Follow death, leave the light."  
  
Ah… Aragorn sighed. What a beautiful voice up there…  
  
He started to swim, as if the murky darkness was water, towards the enchanting sound, finding with delight that it grew louder when he moved closer.  
  
"No!" the other shrieked, trying without success to grab hold as it's foul hands slid from the Ranger, who only paddled faster, even though the light became no closer, and his limbs wearied soon enough.  
  
Yet he kept going, convinced that if he could only reach that shimmering light, everything would be perfect.   
  
The Man began to pant as his body slowed.  
  
Inky tendrils crept out from the darkness, ensnaring his legs and pulling him down with tremendous force. Aragorn could only watch as the bright miniature Sun drifted out of his view.  
  
Please, don't abandon me, he pleaded.  
  
The light reached his face and he lifted a tired hand to the orb of light.  
  
Aragorn's bloodstained fingertips brushed the white flame, a shriek of defeat rising from the depths of the pit as the light enclosed his body and burned the tentacles into ashes.  
  
The next thing Aragorn could remember was a dull aching that spread from his shoulder in waves, like ripples in a pond, and a slight burning sensation in his right leg.  
  
With effort, he opened his heavy eyelids, his vision like a smeared portrait as the colors around him intensified.   
  
The Ranger groaned as he tried to rise.  
  
Cool fingers lay against his fevered brow, tenderly wiping away beads of sweat.  
  
"Shh…"a strained yet soothing voice whispered. It began to say something else, but could not finish.  
  
"Water," he begged. It was hard to talk with his throat grinding so harshly, and he knew that the sound was raspy when he felt his unseen protector wince. "Sorry…"  
  
His lips were opened and cold fluid flowed into his parched mouth. The Man gulped the fresh liquid down greedily, for nothing tasted better than clear water at the moment. When his great thirst at last abated, he sighed in content and sat up, shaking as his balance wavered.   
  
Hands pressed him back down, taking advantage of his still wavering vision. His guardian made sounds of disquiet. Aragorn realized several things at once; his injuries were still severe and he would be forced to stay here, wherever 'here' was, and also he could tell that his protector spoke in a language that was foreign to him. That alone was enough to be strange, for Aragorn had been taught in tongues and dialects from Dwarvish to the desert tongue of the Haradim. Then how could his unknown defender known that he had wanted water?  
  
He sighed in frustration. He so wished to see who was helping him, curse his sight!  
  
The person was speaking softly to him in his soothing, beautiful voice, trailing smooth fingers through his brown hair. The Man relaxed; even though he could not understand the words spoken, they were calming to hear.  
  
Yet no spoken words could relieve him of his itching curiosity. Who and what was this stranger? Where had he come from? How had he vanquished the great Orc? And, most of all, why had he helped him and not left him to die?  
  
To his right, he could feel the warmth of a great fire caressing his wet skin and drying his clothing, and beyond there he could feel the chill night air seeping through cracks in the barrier of light.  
  
The hand left his face and the voice stopped whispering to him. Aragorn whimpered slightly. He did not want to be left alone. Sure enough, caring fingers stroked his cheek, and the slight breeze brought encouraging sounds to his ears. Although the language was unknown to him, the meaning was clear; sleep now, I am here. I shall not leave you this night.  
  
Feeling better many times over, the Ranger's callused hand settled over the one on his cheek, causing the other to flinch slightly before relaxing to the touch and tightening his own grip in acknowledgement. The Man bestowed a close lipped smile upon his ally. He closed his eyes in peace. Then the music of the night lulled him to sleep.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
ion nin- my son  
  
Whew!! Thank the Valar that chapter two is done!! My typing average is five words a minute (you do the math) and ever since I started middle school this year, I have had way too much homework!! The only thing that keeps me going is my wonderful reviewers:):):)  
  
trapt130: You are my first reviewer!! (hugs the computer so hard it breaks) Uhh… I can fix that… I think…  
  
Tinnuial: Thank you sooo much!!! I hope I met your expectations!!!  
  
Elenillor: Aww… This is the very best review I ever received in my whole life!! You like my summaries? That's good, because this won't be my last story!! I'm glad you're hooked, because I could use a reviewer like you!! Any author could use such great encouragement:) Ooo… you brought me a shiny question!! I actually don't know if this will be slash, although it has more than enough potential. Most likely, all the slash will be in the sequel, but if I change my mind I'll let you know!!  
  
leggylover03: Great name!! I'm glad you love my fic!! Here's your more (with a side of chocolate!! Mmm…)  
  
angelbird12241: I hope part two is as interesting as part one!! I'm sorry that my typing is so slow…:(:(  
  
Crys Ritter: I love bribes, strawberries, and Legolas! Here you go! (Now give me my Elf!}   
  
:):):):):):):)Thanks to my awesome reviewers!!!:):):):):):):)  
  
Vote: should my evil muse answer reviews as well?   
  
(Vote for me or the Elf boy gets it)  
  
Next Chapter: Who is Aragorn's rescuer? Is he sane? Legolas is coming soon!  
  
Please review!! 


	3. Stirring

Summery: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.  
  
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream.  
  
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.  
  
After the Storm  
  
Chapter Three: Stirring  
  
//"Why did you wait so long?" the Man demanded.  
  
This was not how it was meant to be. Estel had planned a wonderful life ahead of him, fighting Orc in the shadows as an unknown hero and exploring the wide beauty of Middle Earth. Now his father, nay, his, 'foster parent', was attempting to snatch away that carefree destiny. It was as if someone had thrown a sword into an ocean and told him to spend a lifetime trying to find it. Yet it would come to naught, the waves would pull it beyond his grasp, and he would perish for old age looking for a weapon that was not his. A doom that was not his.  
  
"What matters is not the time, Aragorn, but that you now have the knowledge, and so must fulfill your fate," Elrond replied wisely.  
  
"I am not Aragorn, therefore I will not slave needlessly for a fate that I do not own!" he spat bitterly, saying the name as if it were a disgusting taste in his mouth.  
  
The Elven Lord furrowed his brow in both sympathy and a slight irritation that he refused to let appear in his tone.  
  
"I am greatly sorrowed by your pain, my son, but nevertheless, denial will not give Gondor its rightful King."  
  
His unearthly calm was angering the mortal even further. How could the Elf be so distant?  
  
"He does not care anymore. You are no longer a child who runs crying to his elders with simple ailments that can easily be remedied, and he no longer understands you. He has no further need of you."  
  
Yes. he doesn't want me, Aragorn thought bitterly. He despises my very presence.  
  
Believing that the silence he received was a moment of responsible hindsight, Elrond continued, "You must come to your senses, Estel."  
  
He rested a hand on his adopted son's shoulder.  
  
The pain inside, combined with heartbreak and disbelief, boiled and frothed. All of his rejection through the years, and all of his rage and suppressed tears broke through the barrier, leaving it in desolation.  
  
"He hates you."  
  
Aragorn met his father's eyes.  
  
"He thinks that you are the weakest of the weak, and that you will take his abuse."  
  
A deep loathing filled his eyes, and the young Man shook as all of his emotions finally controlled him.  
  
He rose hastily, towering menacingly over the Lord of Imladris for a few brief, wonderful moments as the hand on his shoulder was shoved away. Aragorn lifted his hand, and slapped Elrond with all of his might. //  
  
The next thing that Aragorn could remember was opening his eyes and squinting in the bright sunlight until his eyes were able to center on the world around him. The sky was clear and the cool wind teased him as it danced across his face. The remains of a fire emitted a comforting smell of burnt wood and cooked rabbit as he sat up, attempting to gather his thoughts with little success.  
  
"Where am I?" he asked the abandoned camp ground. His only answer was the rustling of green leaves above his head, as well as a painful protest from his leg and shoulder at the abrupt movement.but where had he injured himself?  
  
Slowly, his memories trickled into his head; the fight with his father, galloping across the plains, fighting the colossal Orc, and, most of all, the stranger who had saved his life. Where was his mysterious helper?  
  
"Hello?" he called out in fear. The Ranger leapt to his feet at the sound of cracking twigs, his body chastising him immediately.  
  
Thalion snorted at his master's behavior, shoving his large head under Aragorn's arm. He sighed in relief as he rubbed his faithful companion's neck.  
  
"Thalion," Aragorn breathed, letting his guard down. "Were you injured?"  
  
The majestic stallion tossed his head back and forth, his mane dancing and his brown coat glistening in the sunlight. Aragorn stroked the white diamond on the bride of his nose.  
  
"The stranger took pity on you as well," he mused aloud. He looked into large, dark brown eyes thoughtfully. "Is that so?"  
  
Thalion nuzzled him, snuffing at his bare chest. He looked down in curiosity. Where an ugly black arrow had once protruded, there now lay a neat line of stitches, nearly invisible to the naked eye. His anonymous rescuer had clearly been a talented healer. The only other time he had seen a wound so skillfully sewn had been in the presence of his father...Aragorn shook his head. The idea that his former parent was following him was completely absurd.wasn't it?  
  
A pile of clean tunics lay by the ashes of the fire, near a pair of leggings and his boots. Aragorn dressed quickly, wrinkling his nose in disdain at the tattered remnants of his old clothing as he lay them down. In a failed attempt to pull on his boots, the Dùnadan tripped and fell on a pack, containing a blanket, lembas, a bottle of water, a pipe, and a dark green overcoat, which he slid onto his shoulders before breaking a piece of lembas off to chew on in thought.  
  
"Alas, my steed!" he cried softly. "This stranger has done so much for me, yet I am blind to both their name and their whereabouts! Did you see where they went, Thalion?"  
  
But his noble servant only gazed at him mournfully as he slid his pack onto his shoulders and looked about a final time.  
  
"Thank you," Aragorn whispered as he climbed atop his mount. "Whoever you are."  
  
With a silent command, Thalion whinnied in sorrowful farewell and trotted away from the place where their lives had been saved.  
  
The small glade and the forest were both left behind soon enough, and many leagues of long grass were before them. Thalion raced with abandon across the fields, whickering in careless delight. Wind blew the Man's hair behind him as he laughed, despite himself, at his mount's joyful antics, and soon all traces of his rescuer were swept from his mind. By the time that Rivendell was beyond an eagle's keen sight, it appeared that Aragorn had forgotten everything about his close call and the peaceful clearing.  
  
Nightfall came many times faster than either horse or rider could have anticipated, forcing them to set up camp under the nearest tree. Cold rain pelted his face, merciless as he struggled to create a fire. He struck desperately at the firewood with the flint from his pouch, yet to no avail.  
  
"Please," Aragorn muttered. "Only one spark."  
  
An orange flame struck suddenly beneath his fingers, taunting him before flickering and dying with a hiss. Impatience overcame him as he rose and kicked the damp wood in irritation. He gathered Thalion's reins in disgust. They could remain there no longer whilst they lacked a fire.  
  
"Come," he ordered angrily. "We shall find better shelter."  
  
Ignoring the Elven horse's disquiet as he mounted once more, Aragorn did the one thing that he had been told never to do; he took off into the rainy night.  
  
Thunder roared and lightning flashed in fury at him as he rode. Thalion's great sides began to heave as the horse struggled to obey his master, but despite all of his effort, he was slowing down. The fact remained that he had been riding all day and needed rest. Aragorn himself was panting, but the two could not halt until a haven could be found.  
  
"Keep going!" the Ranger insisted, silently pleading with his steed. "Lasto beth lammen! Noro lim!"  
  
He was shaking with cold by the time that a cave appeared in the distance, and quaking violently by the time Thalion reached it. Aragorn dismounted and fed his devoted companion, tending to his needs before his own. Then he sat, now able to begin a fire within the dry comforts of the stone. The moment that the warm smoke rose idly above his head, he felt much better. The illusion of safety was all that he needed.  
  
The Man opened his pack and pulled from it the soft blanket that his protector had given him. Yawning loudly, Aragorn wrapped himself in its large confines.  
  
Once settled, it did not take long for Estel to drift into a light sleep, filled with slain Orc bodies and rain.  
  
Aragorn awoke abruptly, alert for a person or sound, straining to find out what had startled him.  
  
Outside, the drops slapped against the cave in a rage, seeking to destroy the grey stone. Thalion slept peacefully by the entrance. After a while, he began to toss away his doubts, and was beginning to immerse himself in sleep when he heard it; the unmistakable sound of light feet walking across the hard ground of the cave.  
  
Aragorn leapt to his feet, drawing his sword and pursuing the noise behind him deep into the cave. Silence pressed upon his ears, his eyes seeing only the deep stain of night like spilled ink at first, until he closed them for a time. When he opened them once more, a soft glow was apparent not far ahead.  
  
He crept up to the dull light, his heart pounding in his head and his brow slick with sweat. His breath grew faster as he began to make out the blurred form of a slender Man. Aragorn pointed his sword in front of his body for protection.  
  
"Halt!" he shouted. "Who goes there?"  
  
There was no answer.  
  
"Speak thy name!"  
  
The shadow darted past him, intent on its escape. He slashed across its leg, forcing it to stumble. It gripped his wrist and thrust his sword against a boulder. In desperation, Aragorn tackled the thing to the rocky floor. The cloaked one thrashed beneath him, groaning under the Ranger's weight. He pushed down harder, pinning lean arms to the floor. His opponent gasped and kicked him with incredible force, weakening his grip. It darted to its feet as Aragorn staggered to his, knocking the figure against the rough wall with brute strength, their bodies too close for the creature to escape.  
  
Aragorn grew less tense now, like a bowstring loosened after the heat of battle. He tore strips from his inner tunic to bind his enemy's wrists and ankles.  
  
"You are at my mercy, Stranger," he announced in satisfaction. "Answer my questions, lest you suffer the consequences. Who are you, what are you, and what deeds did wish to accomplish?"  
  
Only hastened panting came from the other's mouth.  
  
The son of Arathorn pressed his sword to the being's pale neck, drawing a single drop of ruby blood. He moved closer to the shadowed face.  
  
Now the person was trembling in fear, instilling pity in Aragorn's heart. This was truly a defenseless thing that he was about to slay.  
  
The Ranger's keen eyes watched a lone tear fall from the darkness beneath his captive's hood to the stone below with a soft cry as it splattered on the floor. His sympathy grew as if the single tear had watered his already weakened defenses. A sudden thought dawned upon him.  
  
"I am so sorry," he whispered.  
  
Gently, Aragorn pushed back the green hood, gasping at what he saw underneath.  
  
****************************************************************  
  
Lasto beth lammen- listen to the words of my mouth  
  
Noro lim- ride hard  
  
Alright! That was the longest yet! (Dances around like a leprechaun) And here's the highlight of my day!  
  
LOTRFaith: All of my reviewers have the coolest names! Thanks for the compliments! Yes, Aragorn is better now. And, amazingly, he managed to recover without chocolate! He must have had a really good healer.  
  
trapt130: Thank you so much!! I'm sorry that I couldn't update faster. I have gone on many long vacations without a computer, and I know how tough it can be.No matter when your review comes, I'll be glad to get it!  
  
Elenillor: You're going to make me cry!!!!!!!!! That was so nice!!!!!!!! I swear that I have read your review at least twenty times!!!!!!!!!! (I am in sixth grade, yes, and the homework is meant to be nothing in comparison to high school, but my old teacher gave us little to no homework, so I became a little spoiled over the matter.) Don't sell yourself short, though!!!!! Your work is good reading for any Lord of the Rings fan!!!! The evil voice is cool, true, and I will make the best use of it that I can.Also, there is a slight chance of implied slash in chapter four, but in all honesty, the reader's eyes will miss it entirely!!! Oh, I need to go cry now.  
  
Bill the Pony2: Thanks for the compliment!! I think that you and Thalion will get along great!  
  
Nightshade3: (Yes, foolish mortals! Beg for more!) Uh.alright then! Ignore my muse, please. Here's more! Hope you liked it!  
  
leggylover03: Yeah, chocolate is really good. There wasn't as much angst here, but the next chapter might make someone cry. Elrond might not show up here, but poor Legolas will need many kinds of healing.  
  
:):):):):):):):):):) Thanks to all of my super reviewers!! :):):):):):):):):):)  
  
Next chapter: Aragorn meets his hero, and it wasn't who he expected. Also, I have an alert for Elf lovers!  
  
(Sorry about the last Next Chapter. It wasn't that accurate.)  
  
Please review! How else can I know that my story is worth posting? 


	4. All that Glitters

Summery: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.  
  
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream.  
  
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.  
  
After the Storm  
  
Chapter Four: All that Glitters  
  
Tangled hair of spun sunlight tumbled around a face like white marble, accenting deep blue eyes that seemed to hold crystal stars and forgotten worlds.  
  
Aragorn shivered unconsciously at the knowledge that seemed to reflect in their depths from the hearts of the Valar themselves.  
  
Softly parted lips breathed quickly in fear of the strong Man, and the tips of pointed ears stood out from the other's head, straining to hear signs of danger so that the Elf could flee like a frightened deer once Aragorn let his guard down.  
  
"You are my rescuer," he spoke simply, voicing the thoughts that pounded through his head. It felt right on his lips, those perfect words. Though he could not explain how, Aragorn knew that this was to whom his great debt was owed. "You saved my life."  
  
The ethereally beautiful creature gazed dully at him with barely focused eyes, diamond tears glistening in his own light from within. The Man felt monstrous at the evils that he had so rashly committed upon this fair Elf. Gently, he untied the rough knots around the other's hands and feet, his eyes never leaving the sapphire ones above.  
  
"Please, my friend, do not leave me. I owe you too great a price and I feel that I must repay you. At least allow me to share my fire tonight."  
  
The Man knew how useless it was to even begin giving back a significant amount of his immense gratitude with a mere fire, and he regretted the words before they left his mouth. Yet to his wonder, his hero nodded slightly, a hint of longing in his eyes. He followed the Ranger, although great trembles wreaked havoc on his lithe form as he did so.  
  
As they traveled closer to the light of Aragorn's camp, he mused on the soul that had saved him. The Elf was weak and frightened, that was true, but he was as sorrowful and lovely as a fallen star. He had obviously been strong and wise for a time. He felt his throat close and ache when he looked upon him. It was as if seeing a spirit without a body, its grandeur torn away, leaving only traces of power. The thought made him shudder in horror.  
  
The firelight shone in welcome as the two sat on the stone floor.  
  
"Would you like lembas, perhaps?" Aragorn asked him quietly. "I have plenty of water, and a few pieces of dried meat, if you would like some. If there is anything that I can give you, I shall."  
  
The stranger looked at him mournfully, as if there was something that he needed to say, but no sound other than his quick breathing left his mouth, seemingly to his own deep regret. Slowly, he gestured towards Aragorn's blankets, trying to insist that the Ranger should sleep. Aragorn tilted his head in curiosity before sitting near the rumpled cloth.  
  
"Are you certain that there is no more that I may do? At the very least, I would have you take a blanket."  
  
He knew that his Elven rescuer could not feel the night's chill, but the creature looked to be in need of comfort. Lifting the soft wool into his hands, he draped it over the other's thin shoulders with care, feeling the Elf wince when he drew closer.  
  
"Thank you for saving me," Aragorn whispered as he drew back, pulling his remaining blanket closely around his strong form.  
  
"Go ahead, filth. Thank the Elf. You were too frail to save yourself and you know that."  
  
He shut his eyes as tight as he could to shield himself from the pain before falling into a fitful sleep.  
  
//It was a magnificent feeling of sheer power. There was a shuddering feeling of control within him, and yet a spiral of disarray that he had never tasted before. His heart beat loudly with excitement, and every breath that he took was like the first he had ever breathed. He was the overlord now! No one could order him to do anything without his consent any longer! He was free!  
  
Elrond looked up at his foster son in pure disbelief. His cheek burned fiercely, more from the inside than actual pain. His beloved son had hit him? He could scarcely believe it.  
  
Aragorn's eyes were wild with the wonder of the moment. The thrill of halting what had caused him so much pain gave him a sickening glee that he had never felt before. He looked down at his father in disgust, his handsome face twisted into a smirk.  
  
"No," he hissed. "It is you who must come to reason, my Lord."  
  
The Man used the title like a revolting insult, the very thought of his father making him ill.  
  
"I am not Isildur's heir! I will never be Aragorn, and I am not your son! Do not tell me what to do with my life!"  
  
"If you are not Aragorn, and you are not my Estel, then who are you?" Elrond asked him sagely.  
  
There was a moment of silence that seemed to last a century before Aragorn answered cruelly, "I am no one. I will always be no one."  
  
He turned abruptly and left the room, stealing a bow and quiver on the way outside. Elladan blocked his way when he attempted to enter the stables, having heard the argument from nearby.  
  
"Stop this, my brother," the Elf whispered softly. "It doesn't need to be this way. Accept your destiny and remain here a while longer."  
  
His pain was evident as his eyes caught the Man's own. His little brother was growing up, and within the millennia he would perish. He loved Aragorn too deeply for that to occur. He wanted to beat time away with all of his might. He wanted to keep his Estel safe from its clutches forever.  
  
"Please, Estel."  
  
Aragorn closed his eyes briefly as Elladan's trembling fingers stroked his brown hair before forcing him back and untying Thalion. Elrohir ran to them from the archery field when he sensed his twin's bleeding heart.  
  
"What is amiss?" he whispered breathlessly.  
  
Elladan climbed atop the closest horse and urged it forward.  
  
"Aragorn!" Elrond shouted as rushed to the stable. The words struck the Man like a sword through his heart as he heard his brothers' steeds attempt to reach him. Aragorn laughed. Thalion was the fasted horse in Rivendell besides Glorfindel's own noble beast. Their effort was all to be in vain.  
  
Tears flowed freely down Elladan's cheeks, torn away by the winds. They were going to lose Aragorn to his own denial.  
  
"Estel!" he screamed to his young brother. "Come back to us, Estel!"  
  
Aragorn kept laughing, much to their dismay. Elrohir was filled with a fiery anger as he urged Malloth beyond her limits. The horse neighed loudly in protest as she caught up to her better as the two reached the same pace. Elrohir threw himself onto Thalion's strong back, wrapping his arms around Aragorn's waist.  
  
"You will come home," he ordered in pain. "You will mend my father's heart, and apologize to Elladan."  
  
Aragorn commanded Thalion to rear, the horse whined softly. This was the kind Elf who gave him the sweetest apples! He did not want to hurt him!  
  
Estel kicked the horse's sides. Thalion raised himself onto his hind legs just as Aragorn tore Elrohir's hands away.  
  
Elrohir released a cry as he fell into the dirt. With a horrible crack, his ribs broke beneath him and he rolled over hard ground with the weight of his impact. A heartrending sob broke through the air, and then he knew no more.//  
  
He observed the twitching Dùnadan with a childlike curiosity, his fingers running lightly over the blanket around his slender frame. The Man was moaning loudly, obviously in great torment. He let the corners of his lips rise into a shaky smile.  
  
It was another sign.  
  
The first had been the anger, the easiest to recognize. This one had dealt with it by riding across the land, never a wise idea, for that had brought about many Orcs.  
  
Destroying them so viciously had been the next sign, the beginning threads for a cloak of obsession for the pain of others, although the slaying of the pathetic beasts was a better way to release a rage than the deaths of the innocent.  
  
This young one was fortunate that he had taken an interest in him; leastwise he would be brutally killed by the giant Orc that had found him.  
  
"Ada."  
  
The Elf furrowed his brow in pity, his eyes softening as he looked upon the Ranger's face.  
  
"Please, Ada," he whimpered. "I am so sorry."  
  
Tears tricked down his dirty cheeks and he twisted pitifully as he begged for comfort and release from his throbbing heart.  
  
He turned his head from the sad sight. A small part of him longed to soothe the choking Man, to pacify his fear like the gentle creature that he truly was. The tiny voice inside of his head pleaded to make the feverish thing before him rest peacefully, yet it was weak and quickly drowned out by the echoing screams in his ears and his fear for Men. Another little piece of his soul wanted to kill the wretched beast in a hopeless revenge, though it was thankfully overcome for the moment.  
  
His eyes widened and he almost cried out when a limp hand fell upon his own. He yanked his hand from underneath the other's sweaty fingers, breathing quickly and in agitation.  
  
That had hurt him badly. The Elf's body trembled without his consent as he held his arm to his chest as if burned. The young Man frowned and whimpered, turning to face the wall.  
  
"I am so sorry, Elladan," he sobbed.  
  
Elladan? He knew that name. He had a twin brother, did he not? Elrahar? He sighed in frustration. If only the realm of dreams would allow his passing! All that he wanted to do was sleep. To close his eyes and rest as mortals did. He would not mind nightmares, if only he could hide himself from the harshness of reality, although merely for a night.  
  
Slowly, he crept near the crying Ranger, clasping his wrist in grim determination as he shook in terror like a frightened rabbit. He bound his voice to do his will and tried to calm the Man.  
  
"Shh." he whispered as his throat throbbed in pain. "Shh."  
  
Ai, Valar! That made his heart pound mercilessly in his ears as he paled with anguish. His world reeled and dimmed before his eyes, his head screaming in pain.  
  
Yet it had a different effect on the pained dreamer. He calmed as soon as he heard the melodious sound of the Elf's voice.  
  
"Ada?" he whispered, before sinking into a deep sleep.  
  
He stared numbly at the peaceful face of the sleeping Man for a long moment before releasing his arm and walking silently to the cold grey stone of the cave wall. The horse awoke to follow him, gently nuzzling the beautiful Elf child. He buried his cold fingers in the warm, flowing mane and stroked it tenderly, his heart tearing itself apart inside.  
  
It wasn't fair.  
  
Why did the Dùnadan receive a loving family? Why had he run from those who cared for him so?  
  
The horse nibbled affectionately on his hair, yet to no avail, for he had grown harsh and bitter inside, and only one creature could cure him.  
  
He wanted his family, and no mere beast could give that. He was too broken now for anyone to love him, and too ruined. Too maimed.  
  
I could kill them, he mused. I could begin with the mortal, and murder him slowly while I look at his pain. I could hold his blood in my hands.  
  
A jubilant feeling tickled his chest like a dancing flame, and he smiled sadistically.  
  
Then I would laugh, young one. I would laugh so long and hard that it will take days to cease. That would be so wonderful, to see you bleed. It would make me heal again, I know it.  
  
He closed his eyes and listened to the screams that he could already feel, the fear that he could taste. He would avenge himself for the vile fate that he had been dealt. It would make him feel better, to see every wound mirrored on the pathetic thing before him. That would make his family find him again!  
  
Then the feeling grew more powerful, and stopped feeling so magnificent. It began to hurt him, and he frowned in pain as his throat ached.  
  
It would be wrong to hurt the little one, he thought. Not whilst he had a chance to save himself before evil stained his soul as it had already done to his own spirit already.  
  
The beast sniffed his delicately pointed ear as the Elf pulled his legs into his chest and rested his chin on his knees.  
  
He would see. He was watching them both even as he sat here broken, because he wanted him. He loved his pet. So the unearthly creature quaked and tried to find comfort behind his tightly clenched eyes.  
  
Yet he did not cry.  
  
Alright! Who's the queen of torture? C'mon, people!  
  
Sorry. I had to get that out of my system. I cannot believe that took so long! I have had way too much homework these two weeks! But I am so glad I finished that chapter! Unfortunately, my evil muse has run out of juice. That's what you get when you buy those things off E-bay, though. She's playing dollies with my little sister right now.  
  
Meanwhile.  
  
Rachel: Mrs. Fluffiums gets the blue dress, and Sally B. Honeynut gets the yellow dress.Hey! What's so funny?  
  
Muse: (Between fits of laughter) H-honey, and then, n-nut! Ha ha ha ha ha!  
  
Rachel: You're weird.  
  
Muse: We, and t-then, ird! That's hilarious!  
  
Rachel: You're a senile loser, and you are permanently banned from the Tea Party Guild!  
  
Muse: I have a weasel in my pants.  
  
(Rachel is now very confused)  
  
Rachel: You're a freak, aren't you?  
  
Muse: (Winks) And remember, only you can prevent forest fires!  
  
(My sister edges away very slowly)  
  
Rachel: Maybe you should hug Sally B. Honeynut.  
  
Muse: Yummy! (Stuffs doll in her mouth)  
  
Rachel: Sally! No! She was so young, struck down the prime of life!  
  
(She sobs for a grand total of 5 seconds before picking up her purse)  
  
Rachel: Screw this! Let's hit the mall!  
  
Muse: With a mallet?  
  
Rachel: Knock yourself out.  
  
Muse: Way cool!  
  
Back to me.  
  
Actually, she's much scarier now! But until she fully revives, I need the support of my friends, family, and most of all, my reviewers!  
  
Tinnuial: Yeah, I do love to taunt people; it's the coolest hobby. I'll try to meet your expectations. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
LOTRFaith: Legolas's fear? Whatever do you mean? (Smiles innocently) How do you know that it is Legolas? There are many mysterious people who spy on Men in caves in the dead of night. I'm really sorry that I posted so late. School got me as well. Thanks for the praise!  
  
Fantasia3: It's just the normal deal, you know. it means either 1. There is an Elf in this chapter, 2. Legolas is in this chapter, 3. There is Elf torture in this chapter, or 4. There is good stuff for both Elf and Legolas lovers in this chapter. Nothing too high tech.  
  
angelbird12241: Thanks! Here's more for you!  
  
Tis a Pirate's Life for I: Thank you so much!!!!!!!!!!!! Man, if this is what caffeine does to people, I need to invest in Coca Cola. However, on the hopefully likely chance that your review was not soda induced, I apologize for the delay. I also beg you to keep reviewing!!!!!  
  
RougeElf: I'm really sorry I posted so late. School is a real bummer. Thanks for the review!!  
  
Ymmas Sirron: You are? Really? This calls for my happy dance! (THE FOLLOWING SCENE HAS BEEN CENSORED DUE TO THE AUTHOR'S HORRIBLE DANCING. THANK YOU) Stupid announcer guy. I'm not that bad. But thanks a million for your input!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
ElvenWitch2: More? Yes. Soon? Sadly no. My typing speeds have been compared to the musical stylings of sushi, as explained earlier. Thanks!  
  
leggylover3: I think that my little flashback did the trick, but I believe that the only long- term cure is to keep reading! Again, I'm really sorry that took so long. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Elenillor: Ooo! Great minds think alike! Elf torture is so cool! And look! You discovered that the rescuer and the Elf were one and the same before anyone else! Keeping Tolkien's dialect has been a real challenge for me from the very beginning. Thank you so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Bill the Pony2: Everyone is so paranoid. Just because Legolas is in this story, it doesn't mean that he has spare time to waste saving future Kings. He could be saving anyone. My hero. I'm sorry that I posted so late. Thanks and namárië!  
  
(((Thanks a million for your support!!!!!!!!! Keep those reviews coming!!!!!!!! (((  
  
Next Chapter: New victims and new angst! 


	5. The Beast

Summery: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.  
  
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…   
  
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.  
  
  
  
  
  
After the Storm  
  
  
  
Chapter Five: The Beast  
  
It was a loud night. Dark things claimed Mirkwood with their horrible voices.   
  
"This forest is ours!" they seemed to cry. "It is ours for the taking! We call to it and it harkens!"  
  
Trees with black hearts grew in thick brambles as they clambered for dominion over all else, choking all other signs of life in a vast expanse over much of Mirkwood. Good things hid in terror, stifling cries to hide from spiders with varying success.   
  
Yet it was peaceful at the palace. It was more silent and melancholy, though.  
  
Tall guards with well crafted bows held vigil at the great doors; strong and intimidating, while inside all was quiet.  
  
  
  
Quiet…  
  
All was still, yet not peaceful. The halls were filled with melancholy, reflecting the Elves inside. It was as if a part of the kingdom had been ripped away.  
  
In a lavish room, fingers stroked a silver goblet of red wine. Eyes searched a detailed portrait, contemplating questions.  
  
It was a likeness of an Elf. Moon kissed hair tumbled from his head, pulled back in the braids of a warrior from blue eyes like a river at night; dark and reflective. His body was slender but strong, the green garments hiding the muscles of an archer. The strong hands that held that bow could also hold a maiden's hand in tenderness. The same heart that housed such fierceness for Orcs could also love to unimaginable depths.  
  
He smiled as he gazed upon his little one. Nay, he was not a little one any longer. He was an archer now, and a strong prince.   
  
"Legolas," he whispered, now sorrowful. "Legolas."  
  
  
  
That was his Greenleaf, yes. What a beautiful name for such a beautiful child! When Legolas was born, he could think of no name better.   
  
He drank deeply from his goblet then sighed.  
  
"What did I do wrong, my son? Where did I err? You were so perfect, love. I doted on you, yes, but how could I not?"  
  
Small golden bells hidden under pillows, soft stuffed rabbits sewn by his finest tailors… It was his way of apologizing for his absences. Yet they had experienced their times together. He had kissed pained knees in his time and watched his baby sleep. They had grown very close.  
  
When Legolas matured he was away more often, fighting beasts and courting daughters. No time, it seemed, was left for his father any longer. His time at home became shorter and shorter, and then, suddenly, it ceased altogether, about a year ago.  
  
He had never felt a year last so long. This one had dragged by, brimming with suspense and grief. Feasts became less frequent. Thranduil knew that he was dying. He needed his son.  
  
No wine, however potent, could give him that.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
A harsh roar erupted into the musky air, banging into the cavern walls and echoing mercilessly in the Elf's keen ears, bringing him from dark thoughts.   
  
He stifled a cry as he leapt to his feet, his bright eyes darting about and searching for the culprit, yet he could see nothing near at hand. There was a dead silence that pressed on his mind for an endless moment before the rough noise sounded once more, louder and closer.  
  
He pushed his grey cloak out of his way and drew a long, white handled knife from its sheath. With a vigilant manner, he slipped into the dark shadows that haunted the stone labyrinth.  
  
He had been here earlier, escaping from the Man, yet that had been a hopeless evasion into the unknown, and he had not held the luxury of looking about. He deeply regretted that now. One wrong path and all would be lost.  
  
How could he tell which way would collapse? The rocks were each as old as the next, foreboding and oppressive like ancient sentries from some greater power, sent to guard the deep places. They frowned upon his presence and only his determination to find the snarling creature kept him walking, yet only for the present.  
  
His brow furrowed as a mindless panic began to overcome him. A turn here, a passage there… how could he keep going, when the firelight diminished with every step into the unknown?   
  
A deep throated growl came from close by. He silenced his gasping breath, suddenly frozen by terror. His thoughts merged into a senseless jumble, and his head began to throb.  
  
It's really dark here, is it not?  
  
Another horrible scream sent shivers through his flesh. He began to pant softly despite himself, trying desperately to don a mask of smooth indifference as hot beads of sweat trickled down his pale face, his fear hidden by the hood that had somehow slipped over his head. The musky air would no longer sustain him.  
  
It is only a little further, the Elf assured himself. I merely seek to look upon this creature's face and no more. I am subtle in dark places, and it may not even know I was there. It may not be a foe at all!  
  
Drums beat far ahead, faint but horrible, every stomp awakening panic in his heart. Closer and closer the beast came, each footstep growing louder and louder. The stones trembled beneath him. He wanted to flee yet his feet would not obey. The end drew nearer for him as the monster did; he knew that his time would come. Then a wonderful and horrible thing occurred.  
  
The clomping ceased.  
  
It was replaced by a wet snuffling like a gurgling stream that had been choked by moss and time. It began gingerly and sluggish, as if the thing was only just woken, then deeper and faster, like a sickening battle chant.   
  
He listened in a detached state of awe for long moments until he realized what the creature was doing. He was being sniffed, like a wolf hunted its prey. Prey…  
  
He could think again enough to run, but he didn't know what to do. Part of him cried out to run for his life, but then he would surely be found. Another wanted him to stay long enough to look upon his hunter's face. And another part was dark and sadistic, calling for him to join with the thing and destroy the filthy, weak Man…  
  
A shriek pierced the air and his opponent charged forth as it uttered its battle cry. His eyes were drawn to the horrific sight before him, a portrait that would haunt his thoughts for years.  
  
It was a cave-troll of abominable height, green as rotting wood with muscles that bulged from its thick hide with fearful ease. In its hands it gripped a great stone club with jagged sides, and on its face it bore a look of insanity and malice.  
  
So death is my fate…  
  
He turned quickly and dashed ahead, still glancing behind him at the thunder of those great feet at first before giving his full attention to the little hope still remaining for escape. He cursed his ill luck.  
  
I am leading it right to our camp! he thought in despair. Had I not come, the troll may have wandered long in these accursed tunnels, mayhap even taking days to find the cave's mouth. Yet now it appears that I shall prove my own bane.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
Aragorn moaned under his breath and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The fire was low and waning quickly, but from what he could see, the strange Elf had left. He played with the idea of calling to him for a while as he waited for his mind to fully awaken and was beginning to rise when he heard it-a roar that made the rocks quake and stabbed his ears in its wake.   
  
The Ranger drew his deadly blade and rose into a battle stance all in one fluid movement. Silently he waited for his enemy.   
  
He did not wait long.  
  
The Elf bolted into the chamber first, his blue orbs wild with fear and a naked blade in his thin, white hand. He emitted a soft cry of terror that seemed to hurt him even more than the pain that had first made him scream.  
  
"What-" Aragorn began to say, but he faltered when he saw the troll that came crashing through, its eyes rolling as it searched for a victim and its mouth dripping with foam.  
  
It roared and came straight at his body, swinging its club. Aragorn shouted in surprise and darted between its great legs. The weapon, twice the size of the Man's body, kept going with the force of his strong arms to collide with the cave wall, sending cracks like ripples of water across the smooth surface of the stone.   
  
He swallowed his fear barely enough to stab its arm, but the thick hide turned his thrust aside. The monster lifted its club with a battle cry. This time, Aragorn was not so fortunate.   
  
Rough rock scraped at his side, snagging skin and ripping it away. He bit through his lip in agony as sluggish rivers of warm blood gushed down his leg with a fierce, vivid pain. He kept running though, his heart thundering wildly in his ears. The beast sniffed wetly, and, upon smelling fresh blood, shrieked happily and swung its weapon at Aragorn's head.  
  
The Man screamed and ducked, quickly sliding to the floor. The club collided with the wall and embedded itself within the stone, releasing dust and pebbles. He coughed and shut his eyes, blindly feeling for an escape, yet it seemed that none could be found. The troll would unearth its club soon enough, the panic was killing him, and now a shaft of light was shining in his eyes… Wait a moment!  
  
Sure enough, a feeble beam of red light was coming from a hole in the rocks, many feet above him. It was too thin to hurt the troll, and too faded to turn it to stone, but its very presence meant that the cave wall was weak there.   
  
The beginning threads of a plan had began to weave themselves within his mind, when his trail of thought was cut off by a bellow of triumph. His mind froze as he turned to meet the troll and its freed club.  
  
The column of rock came crashing down. He slipped to the side as fear put wings on his feet and the cave's sides swallowed the club. Mere seconds later, he was awarded with a short rumble as it was yanked loose. Small rocks showered onto the beast's foul head, noticed only by the scrutinizing glance of the Ranger as he ran back under the thing's legs.  
  
He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled; a loud, clear sound that forced the troll to turn and growl in irritation, sending his club down to rid himself of the annoying call. Aragorn ducked and rolled as the cave began to tremble.  
  
Veins throbbed in his enemy's neck as it removed its club and then tossed it into the cracking wall with a blood curdling shriek. It lifted its heavy fists and prepared to bring them down upon the Man's vulnerable body when the wall tumbled to the earth in an avalanche of boulders and dust clouds.   
  
Through the ruin and groans of falling rock, the dawn pierced through in bloody glory and turned the cave-troll to stone, its pose forever one of anger.  
  
Aragorn smiled and coughed, certain that everything would be alright. He was beginning to rise when suddenly an ominous rumble filled the air, shaking the rocky foundations like an earthquake and tossing him against the wall where he slid to the ground like a limp rag doll. He lay unconscious and bleeding on the rocks, his last cry unheard as the cavern collapsed.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
The Elf had been still and afraid as he watched the other fight from within his hiding place in the stones, almost as if looking from an eagle's back from far above Middle-Earth, or remembering listening to someone else tell a tale about it. It was as if there was no point to the battle, as if nothing that he could do would matter.  
  
"Everything is useless, really. Nothing will matter in the end."  
  
He hardened his glare and clutched his knife tighter.  
  
"You know that I speak truly, little one. Why else would you bring out only one of your knives? Your heart is not in this life."  
  
Leave me, he thought. Let me live in peace.  
  
Horrible, cold cackles filled his ears and he stiffened.  
  
"Leave you?" the voice hissed in cruel humor. "You lost me the Man, and I have yet to gain you back under my spell. Why would I leave you?"  
  
You will leave me because I have ordered you to, he calmly explained. I am not your toy, rauko. Over me you shall hold no power.  
  
Warm breath touched his ear and he shivered despite himself.   
  
"You like it when I play with you, don't you? What a pity! I have taken your name, family, and even your speech away from you, as small tokens of my power, and now you hunger for more? I shall give you what you so desire."  
  
Pain seared through his very core, eating at his heart and soul. His mind faded and then grew strong, estranged in a sickening battle for domination over his essence. He screamed silently, pleading for it to stop.   
  
"What was that?" the voice asked him.  
  
I'll be good! he promised. I'll listen! Make it stop!  
  
The agony ceased, leaving him breathless as he crumbled to the earth, pitifully sucking in air.  
  
"Bring me the Ranger," it ordered.  
  
Yes! Yes! he sobbed. I will take him to you! I swear!  
  
"Very good, my pet."  
  
Invisible lips brushed his cheek, and then he was gone.  
  
The Elf had just enough time to sheave his blade and scrub angrily at his eyes before he was buried in rock.   
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
It was very empty, now.   
  
The darkness was all that he could feel, and it choked him and made it a struggle to breathe. He gasped as he fought for consciousness. Yet very slowly, he began to feel again, and he wished for numbness once more.   
  
He was buried under heavy, sharp rocks that tore as they dug into his skin. Pain pulsed through his veins. The air was stale and thin, as if slowly disappearing altogether.   
  
His mind was in utter discord. He had no memories, no hopes, and no plans. All that he could think was one horrible thought, over and over again in his ruined head.  
  
I'm afraid of the dark… I'm afraid of the dark… I'm afraid of the dark…   
  
He could not remember why, but darkness scared him so badly. He was wracked with severe convulsions, and his body jarred against the stones. He knew somewhere inside of him that he was making this much worse, but he felt so very alone…  
  
He became unconscious again for a brief respite, until the sounds of grinding rock filled his ears. He wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but his stone prison kept him twisted in an awkward and pain filled position. He almost failed then, and began to faint, an action that would surely have meant his death, when a fiery rope of pain constricted about his chest, and then around his leg.  
  
Someone was taking the rocks away.  
  
Then he was wrenched out of the wall's remains with terrible force. The Elf released a poignant cry and tears streamed down his beautiful face as stones were ripped from his marble skin. He was nearly delirious with pain by the time the rough treatment ceased, and then he heard a sad sigh.  
  
A cold, wet cloth caressed his brow and his mangled clothing was eased away, an unspoken sign that the worst was over.  
  
"You will be alright, Elf," a soft, gentle voice murmured. "And it is a good thing, I deem. There is more to you than one first sees, for all the coward that you are in battle."  
  
He opened his eyes, then, squinting in the bright light. He could see the Man, now. It was the one he had saved before, but how he knew, not even he could tell. Did not all Men look alike?  
  
He was washing him with the cloth as he spoke, gently cleaning away caked blood and dirt. The other whimpered in pain and started to quake.  
  
Aragorn looked at him with pity. Deep lacerations were visible on his thin body, yet only some of them were fresh. Others were in their last stages of healing or had been torn anew, but all of them proved his suspicions true; this Elf, whoever he was, had seen happier times.   
  
Dark bruises danced over his chest and arms and bestowed upon him an even more delicate appearance, and his blue eyes, glazed by agony, stared at him in hopeless fear as he was scrutinized.  
  
Aragorn turned his head and poured more water onto the rag, then proceeded to cleanse his many wounds.  
  
The Elf shivered and closed his eyes as he lost awareness. He supposed that he could trust this mortal. At the moment, he only wanted to sleep. He was so tired…  
  
The Man opened his pack to pull out his bandages.  
  
"Who are you?" he whispered. "Who are you?"   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Hi guys! I have rescued my muse from that horrible fate worse than death: my sister.   
  
She's back to her usual schedule. I think she's borrowed my mom's car to run over small wildlife and stupid pedestrians.  
  
(A sound suspiciously like a mixture of smashed glass and screaming fills the air)  
  
Yeah… it's life as usual. Wait! What's this? Did you guys forget about me? I only received five reviews! That's six less than before! No one likes me…   
  
So, here are my thanks to the more dedicated reviewers:  
  
LOTRFaith: I hope I answered some of your confusion. Actually, I think I might have added to it!:( Basically, we can gather that Legolas is not in Mirkwood and that the mystery Elf has gone through great torment. Interesting… all of the clues seem to point to Boromir… lol!  
  
silvertoekey: Cool name! I'm glad you like my story! I hope this was enough torture for you!   
  
Bill the Pony2: Thanks for the compliment! No, I didn't find a new muse, being the cheapskate that I am. Tell me if this one has fully recovered!  
  
  
  
leggylover03: The Elf doesn't hate Aragorn, really… He's just scared and lonely, the poor thing. I'm sorry that I updated so late!  
  
Elenillor: I do realize that I should have added something like that, but the Elf gave up. He didn't really care anymore. The evil voice strikes again! I'm so sorry about my slow updates…  
  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thanks everybody!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   
  
Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know! Please review! 


	6. Unfurled

Summery: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.  
  
Disclaimer: Owning this story? Yes. Owning Tolkien's work? I can only dream…   
  
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.  
  
  
  
  
  
After the Storm  
  
  
  
Chapter Six: Unfurled  
  
  
  
Aragorn sighed mournfully as he eased his hurting body against one of the smoother rocks.  
  
He had meant to leave: he really had.  
  
He had meant to continue fighting his way through all of Middle-Earth, banishing the thoughts of Rivendell and Elrond from his mind. The thoughts of his heritage he would ignore until they simply faded away, or until he grew too old to recall any visions of glory. He had supposed that he would be thankful for whichever came first.  
  
The wanderer watched the fire absentmindedly, feeling the warm air caress him entirely like a cloak of flames. Smoke billowed into the air and sparks followed in vain as they strove to reach the heavens, their brilliance short and meaningless.  
  
'Like the lives of Men,' Aragorn mused as he observed their struggles. 'They are swift and ignorant. They are like me, in a way; they are meaningless.'  
  
Elrond didn't think so, another voice insisted. Neither did Elrohir, and certainly not Elladan. They loved you all the more because of your meager time in life. You should have stayed.  
  
It was a small voice, and once it had spoken, it slipped through his mind like water poured from a pail. It was simply gone.  
  
What had made him stay? Why was he still here and not riding far away from both his past and future?  
  
One reason was his injury. His side had been stitched, though a painful task, and the wound was now swathed in bandages. The injury was still fresh. Riding would only aggravate it further, even to the point of ripping it anew. It would take time to heal.  
  
'Thalion must also be considered', he realized. 'I forced him past his limits yesterday, and he needs time to recover.'  
  
The proud steed was sleeping peacefully, having survived the collapse with his agility and wits, and was currently breathing evenly nearby with only a few cuts for his troubles.  
  
The true reason, however, for his prolonged stay, was the beautiful creature at his side, lying sprawled beneath a soft blanket.  
  
The Elf's fair, soft skin was bruised and slashed, and a few ribs were broken; they appeared newly healed and had snapped like twigs when the rocks fell. Cloth surrounded many a gaping wound and his light gold hair was tangled and bloody. The poor thing was currently convulsing in the throes of a nightmare as sweat trickled in rivers down his face.   
  
Aragorn wiped his bruised face with a damp rag as his thoughts flew unbidden to ideas that he would not stir.  
  
Was this Elf a messenger of his father's, come to retrieve him? Was he so dedicated that he would purposely injure himself, so that Aragorn would be forced to bring him home?  
  
"He is a spy," the soft hisses insisted, like a snake in his ears. "He comes to call you to Elrond. You should leave him."  
  
At that moment, the Elf rolled over and vomited pitifully onto the dirt, moaning as he shook even harder than ever. Aragorn rubbed his naked back to calm him, revealed as he turned, and felt all thoughts of possible betrayal vanish.  
  
"Poor thing," he murmured. "How did you get so weak?"  
  
If he had been in good health before the collapse, he would have been fine now, but he had obviously been in terrible pain prior to yesterday, and that was only counting visible wounds. All and all, there seemed to be very little that he could do. As he watched the Elf groaned and writhe, he could see the mere surface of a deep wound to his spirit. It was sad to see a living creature so innocent so marred.   
  
**********************  
  
"Elladan?"  
  
Elrohir walked up to his twin brother, resting a gentle hand upon his back. The other did not look up, choosing to continue carving an arrow.  
  
"Are you feeling better?" he asked hopefully.  
  
Elladan pressed the knife closer to the wood, fine shavings trailing behind his small knife. Anyone else would have thought that he had not even heard Elrohir speak. That is, anyone else besides Elrohir himself. His twin knew everything about him and feigned absorption in a mere arrow would not- could not – fool him.   
  
"I suppose not," Elrohir sighed, sitting on an empty wooden chair.   
  
For a while he watched his brother work. His hands trembled as he held his knife, and his beautiful eyes were filled with torment. At first Elrohir had been relieved that Elladan did not cry, yet now he was not certain that it was a good sign.  
  
'What is better?' he wondered sadly. 'Is it truly joy that I feel when tears stray from his face, or is it worse to see him so weakened?'  
  
Elladan may have been the eldest twin, if only by a few moments in time, but his heart was always more tender to cruelty like Aragorn had shown. This was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because the years that flew by had not hardened him, and a curse, for his innocent soul was so simple to wound. His brother was strong in battle, mind and soul, yet Elrohir was his guardian in matters of the heart.  
  
"Brother," he teased, gesturing to the large pile of arrow shafts. "I believe that you have created enough arrows to last, not only through the hunting season, but many others aside! Do you plan to fletch them or merely toss them at the rabbits?"  
  
He did not answer, but he pressed down harder then even before, until at last the blade slide with ease through the thin stick and then through the skin on his finger. It began to bleed sluggishly, the blood streaming down his hand. He rose to find bandages, but warm fingers wrapped his hand in clean cloths, slowing the flow.  
  
Elladan looked up into a pair of sad, glowing eyes, staring detachedly as he tugged half-heartedly and tried to escape.  
  
"Let me go," he mumbled in a hoarse, dead tone that tormented his brother's heart.   
  
"Let me help," Elrohir answered, gently tying a firm knot in the white cloth. "You've been like this too long, brother. You're wasting away and you need me."  
  
It was true. Elladan was growing thin in many ways. He was faded sometimes; as if he was only like to a dream as one began to wake in the morn, soon forgotten. His skin was white and colorless, no longer the pale but healthy gleam that Elrohir had known. His ribs were beginning to protrude from his chest, and his raven hair was tangled and no longer glistened. The last time he had been so disconsolate had been when Celebrian left on her grey ship long ago. All of the signs meant but one thing; it was grief that killed his twin, pure grief.  
  
He stroked his dark hair reassuringly and he stopped struggling. Instead, something flickered in his face like a dying candle. Recognition? Trust? Elrohir could only hope. Perhaps his prayers to the Valar had been answered.  
  
"He was only a senseless mortal, Elladan. A stupid Man. He did not deserve any of your love."  
  
Here, for the first time, his voice grew bitter and cold. He hated Estel for what he had done to his brother. Was he laughing, now, even as they suffered? Was he betraying them to some great evil? His father had sent out search parties, but he didn't care. He couldn't recall a kind side to Aragorn. All that he knew was the pain in his brother's heart. He shared too deep a bond with Elladan to feel anything else.  
  
Tears leaked from Elladan's eyes. He started to tremble as his twin spoke.  
  
"No," he whined. "No, no, no. He loves me deep down, Elrohir. He loves me very much. He is not sluggish or spoiled as the other Men we have encountered from time to time. He is my brother. You can not begin to comprehend the love that we share."  
  
Jealousy flared in his heart as he hissed: "If he loved you so deeply, then why did he leave you to die, like so much dead weight? If you had held him back, he would have killed you! Do you not recall what he did to me?"  
  
Even now, it killed him to walk. By his father's orders, he should have still been in bed, but he bore the pain to see his brother. His chest was licked with flame, and made it hard to breathe. Yet he was here. He loved Elladan too much to lie idle whilst his tender heart bled.  
  
"He hates you! He has grown spiteful while you were oblivious to all but his disguise of false care. You will die of agony as he grows fat on the profits of war like a vulture. In all of his ignorant gluttony, he will forget you. He will not remember your name."  
  
Elladan sank to the ground, weeping with abandon. Elrohir knew that he had gone too far. He knelt beside him, despite his throbbing ribs, holding his twin against his chest. His anger fled.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered as tears streamed down his cheeks. "I only want to protect you, Elladan. I cannot bear to see your pain."  
  
"I know," Elladan stammered. "But I can't bear the thought of him doing such a thing…"  
  
His twin rubbed his back tenderly, his lips resting on his brow. He rocked him back and forth soothingly.   
  
"It's alright, brother. It's alright."  
  
Elladan lay curled in his brother's arms like a mere child, his breath hitching as he clutched Elrohir's tunic. The other twin comforted him the best that he could, trying to mend his broken heart. And that was how Elrond found them when he entered the library at midnight.   
  
**********************  
  
It was dark when he woke up. It was always dark. He could feel sweat on his pale skin, and the air was hot and hard to breathe in. Gasping, he rolled over, trying to remove the taint from the air as he pressed his mouth to the soft blanket that surrounded him, warm with perspiration, and his forehead against the cold stone. He shivered as he was tugged between fire and ice. He felt horrible and his stomach churned threateningly, as it always tended to do after a summons…   
  
A summons? He had been summoned? What were his orders? He couldn't remember, and his master was angry when he couldn't remember…   
  
He bolted up and opened his eyes, shaking and panting frantically. He couldn't remember, he couldn't remember, he couldn't remember…  
  
He was in a strange place. Stones in twisted shapes seemed to grow from the earth and the world was sprinkled with debris. The sky was cloudy and grim. It brought a cold breeze with it that hurt his delicate skin, only beginning to heal. Nearby he could see the horse that he had befriended. Yet his heart almost ceased beating when he saw no trees to hide in, and no dark spaces to immerse himself in.  
  
"You're awake."  
  
He turned to the owner of the soft, gentle voice and found that it was the Man. He was sitting close by, looking at him with interest and pity. Strands of brown hair fell in front of his grey eyes as he rose and came closer.   
  
"I need some answers, Elf," he said slowly, towering over the stricken creature. Tears ran down his dirty face as his shadow towered over his body, immersing him in cruel darkness that made him whimper. "You can no longer keep your secrets."  
  
To his horror, the disconsolate thing began to cry. His clear blue eyes, too large for his thin head and brimming with tears, grew fearful and he buried his face in his hands to weep silently in pain.   
  
Aragorn sighed.  
  
"Please stop that. I'm not here to hurt you, Master Elf. I'm here to ask you some questions. It is only fair to know the name of one who once rescued me."  
  
Yet even as the Man feigned indifference, the Elf sobbed harder. His scrawny frame was wracked with quakes. Suddenly, Aragorn could not bear it any longer. He knelt beside the pathetic creature and hummed quietly to calm him. The tune was an ancient elvish song from Lothlorien, and it soothed them both. Once the Elf was silenced and listening, he tried again.  
  
"Will it help if I told you my name first?" he asked gently. "I am… Estel. I came from Rivendell. Where are you from?"  
  
The Elf opened his mouth and croaked, with effort, "I don't know."  
  
The sound was hoarse and pained. The Elf seemed surprised to hear his own voice. He snapped his mouth shut in shock that came from the awe of having his power of speech restored.  
  
"Who are you, then?"  
  
"I don't know…" he whispered. "I'm alone."  
  
"What do you mean?" he inquired. "How can you forget your name?"  
  
It was indeed strange for one of the Elves, creatures who could remember events of the tiniest importance from centuries unnumbered, to lose such a vital part of their being. Aragorn could not even imagine such a loss of identity. If Elrond himself had told him of such a malady a month ago, he would have doubtlessly laughed and continued about his way. Yet now, he could not think of anything less humorous, as he looked at the miserable Elf before him.  
  
Meanwhile, the creature in question wanted to die. His body ached with pain and his mind stung. It was hard to concentrate on the Man before him while his vision blurred with agony. He was feeling more lost then ever, and he still could not remember his summons…   
  
A lash of fire made him gasp and cease his groveling. His eyes locked on the Man's own with renewed attention. This Man could kill him if he wanted to. Perhaps if he gained favor with him, his greatest wish could be granted.  
  
"I didn't," the Elf answered, warm tears trickling down his dirty cheeks. "He forced me to."  
  
The mortal looked over his lean, starving body with careful scrutiny, watching the other shake under his gaze with a strange look in his grey orbs. Was this what it felt like to leave home? Was this a thing every grown Man must face? Here he had the life of a beautiful creature in his hands. He had power now, true power. This Elf lived or died by his own choice. Was this a test of the Valar? If so, he would not fail.  
  
"That shan't due," he decided after what had seemed like an eternity. "If we are to travel together, you'll need a name."  
  
"W-what?" the Elf stammered, taken aback. "Travel… together? As equals?"  
  
Estel smiled kindly at him, nodding.  
  
"Of course, Master Elf," he agreed. "How else? You saved me whilst I battled a great Orc, and then I repaid the favor. We are equals. Now, what name would you like?"  
  
The Elf closed his eyes. He was going to have a name! But what should he chose? A flower, a tree, a leaf… he was utterly elated! He felt as if he could float on air! As if he could soar! Wind blew on his pale cheeks as he thought. Then he gazed at Estel and smiled back.  
  
"Have you made up your mind, Master Elf?"  
  
Pain was slowly flowing back into his body like water into a dry riverbed, making it harder to speak. The shadow that ruled him wanted no name for the beautiful creature; he would not give him any hope in the darkness of his life. He wanted him to suffer alone with nothing wonderful to recall and only the memory of darkness to keep him occupied. His mouth began to dry out and his lips cracked and bled as he looked up. He coughed to clear his throat and then he croaked an almost inaudible whisper.  
  
"Thoron," the Elf said softly, so that the Ranger had to strain his ears to hear him. "I am Thoron."  
  
He collapsed weakly against his blanket, burying himself in its warmth. Then he drifted into sleep with his eyes shut tightly. A true sleep.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Whoa. That was so short, and yet it took so long. Um…are you guys, like, mad?  
  
(The sounds of an angry mob fill the air and a group of angry readers enters the room with pitchforks and torches)  
  
Yeah, I'm gonna say that you're upset. I'm REALLY sorry! I had no clue that I would have such a long writer's block, or that my family has a strange obsession with sitting in the chair in front of the computer for mindless conversations involving gossip and other drivel! (actually, I might have known about that last one)   
  
So while I'm being torn apart by readers who just happen to be foaming at the mouth, here are some reviews!  
  
LOTRFaith: Oops. I think that I have a problem… Not only was this, like, a month late, but I confused myself while writing that. (Although I hope that I cleared something up) Hmm… I think there's a genre on fanfiction for that!   
  
  
  
  
  
Astievia: Thanks! I do lots of bad things to Legolas! That's in my bio, I believe.  
  
leggylover03: I must have selected reading… You see, I gave you some Aragorn angst, though not a lot, and I updated super late. Sorry! Here's a hint: more angst to come!  
  
Snuffles2: Thank you! I actually didn't know that people without IDs couldn't review. I should really check that out. My story is late, unfortunately. I'm so glad you like it!  
  
Mysterious Jedi: Don't get too excited. You might hurt yourself. Thanks a bunch for the review!! (That's a funny word! Ha! Bunch, bunch, bunch, bunch…)  
  
Shanna1826: ¡Gracias mucho! ¡Ése era uno de la mejor contestación que me han dado! Estoy apesadumbrado que era atrasado... ¡Gracias otra vez por mi primera contestación del español! (estoy apesadumbrado para cualquier error. Mi español no es muy bueno)  
  
little-tenshi: Thank you SO much!! I'm sorry for the slow update. :( Please keep reviewing! (Also, um, what's a tenshi?)  
  
silvertoekey: I'm glad that you're happy! :) Good call with the controlling idea! You were right! It is evil, true, but it shall prove more then a mere irritation. Muh wah ha ha! (Cue thunder and creepy music) Thanks a ton!   
  
Gwyn: Girl, we are going to get along just fine! There is an explanation, but you won't find out for a while. Sorry for the snail-like pace!  
  
Elenillor: Here you go! One story…oops. Not so hot off the press. It's a tad moldy since I last left it. It actually threw a fit when I can back. It still won't talk to me. Love that voice! Gracias for reviewing!  
  
Deana: OMG…Can it be? A name that my computer doesn't underline in spell-check red? Whoa… You'll discover his dilemma soon! (Soon implying to under ten years, of course) Thank you loads!   
  
Ack! Pain! It- burns my flesh! Oh well! Nothing that a little superglue can't fix! Thanks for the reviews and, for everyone's sake, I'll hopefully see you soon! 


	7. Broken Oath

 Summary: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.  
  
Disclaimer: I'm not Tolkien, but I do own a 6" Legolas standee.  
  
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.   
  
Also, plant/animal voices and contacts with plants/animals are portrayed in ~this~ as well. I like to think that animals speak Elvish…  
  
Chapter Seven: Broken Oath  
  
"Elladan? Elrohir?"   
  
Elrohir looked up at the sound of his father's surprised voice. Elrond looked tired. Dark circles shadowed his grey eyes, and he looked…old. The Elf shivered. The thought made him uncomfortable. Elves grew more beautiful with age, unlike the ways of mortals. Only grief or pain tended to age them. Elrond had never seemed so mortal.  
  
Elladan whimpered in his arms.  
  
"It's alright, brother," he assured him, rubbing his back. "It's Ada."  
  
Their father gracefully knelt beside them. He smiled at Elladan, a weary gesture that seemed almost empty. They each were scared when they saw so little of what the other used to be, though Elrond masked it with his cheerful manner.  
  
"Are you feeling better, Elladan?" he asked his son gently. He had hoped that the Elf had recovered from the loss, though he did not blame him for his sorrow.   
  
"Is this how you feel when we travel with the Dùnedan?" Elladan whispered weakly. "Is this how you feel while we stray from home, avenging mother? Do you feel the grief that I hold in my heart, this consuming pain?"  
  
"No," his father answered immediately. "Not that kind of grief. I know that you both are handling Celebrian's absence by battling Orcs and other fiends of Morgorth. I know that you are strong, proud warriors now. I can believe in your skills, and remember that you are safe. What you feel is different, Elladan. When the two of you leave, I can look for you on a map and know the risks. We do not know where Aragorn has gone. We do not know his dangers."  
  
His dangers… Aragorn could join the enemy, forsaking Middle-Earth to eternal darkness. There was no other that the people of Gondor would follow. No one else had such a sure claim to the White City's throne. If Aragorn had truly united with evil, then there was no greater doom.  
  
Elladan spoke then for them both.  
  
"I can't imagine him leaving, Father. I still think of Estel as the little child that ran to me when he had scratches or a bad bruise. The child that I used to play with. Even as he grew, Elrohir and I bonded even deeper then ever before. How could he hurt me like this, Ada? How could he torment me so?"  
  
Elrond leaned forward and held both of his sons in a loving embrace.  
  
"We shall find him," he murmured, with more assurance than he felt in his heart. "We shall find him."  
  
Elrohir said nothing, but his eyes burned with angry fires as watched tears trickle down his brother's thin face.  
  
'Oh, we will find him,' he thought to himself. 'Then he will know of Elladan's pain.'  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Thoron rubbed his eyes in the fresh stream of morning light. He groaned softly as his aching body was forced into motion, but managed to rise and pull a pair of simple, brown breeches and a light, white cotton shirt onto his thin frame. He began packing their supplies, neatly folding the blankets and organizing the healer's kit.  
  
Estel, it appeared, had fallen asleep on his watch. The Elf said naught, still silently fearing the feel of a whip on his sore, scarred back. Instead, he gently woke Thalion, stroking the stallion's side with gentle fingers. The steed snorted at him, and Thoron smiled.  
  
"Come now, Master Horse," he croaked, his sore throat stinging in protest. "It is time to rise!"  
  
Thalion nuzzled his cheek lovingly and struggled to his feet.  
  
~Are you feeling better, Elf child?~  
  
Thoron whirled his head around, looking for the source of the noise. A soft laugh sounded in his head.  
  
~It is I, little one,~ Thalion told him. ~Did you not realize your own abilities? All Elves have some of nature's love in them. You seem to have the strongest that I have ever seen!~  
  
He closed his eyes and thought hard, trying to reply.  
  
~No, no. Try to imagine the world through my eyes. That works best.~  
  
Thoron imagined the freedom of a horse. He imagined galloping through green plains, eating sweet grasses, and drinking from clean, cool streams. He sighed as he settled into the other's skin.  
  
~Like this?~ he asked him, giddy with pleasure.  
  
~That's wonderful,~ Thalion assured him. ~You seem to enjoy my world. I only wish that I could say the same for your own troubles. Your life is troublesome, Elfling!~  
  
Thoron nodded slowly, and tears trickled down his ivory cheeks as he bent his head in shame. His chest was weighted with grief. He gasped as he tried to lighten his burden. He knew this feeling…  
  
It was the awful sense that he had when his master tried to contact him, as if he was being torn open and all of his thoughts and emotions were revealed to the world to see. It was like he would never have anything for himself ever again, and his very soul was being probed and plundered.  
  
Thoron bent over in pain, clutching his chest and wailing with sorrow. Any moment now, he would hear that loathsome voice calling to him, ready to demand horrible things from him…  
  
Suddenly, white light flooded his eyes, and he could breathe again. When the brilliance cleared, he could see Thalion's strong head pressed against his chest. The horse was protecting him from the blow.  
  
"Thank you!" he cried, hugging the horse's neck. "Oh, Valar, thank you!"  
  
Wearily, the stallion raised his head and allowed him to kiss the bridge of his nose. The Elf could feel him give the equivalent of a smile in his mind and knew that he appreciated the thanks.  
  
~It is fine, now, little one. He shall not try that for a while. Who was he?~  
  
"Thoron?"  
  
He whipped his head up, heart drumming in fright…  
  
It was the Man.  
  
Estel was ready to continue traveling.  
  
He tightened Thalion's saddle, an action which made Thoron nervous. Would the horse let anyone fall? He relayed the question nervously to the mighty steed.  
  
~No, child. I would never attempt such an action, no matter how silly the Man gets. I guard him, and take care of him, but his balance is poorer than yours. He needs the saddle.~  
  
Estel climbed atop his back and looked down at his companion's frightened face.   
  
"Come, Master Elf," he said gently. "Where do you wish to sit?"  
  
He gulped and carefully sat behind him, gingerly placing his arms around his waist.   
  
"Gallop forwards," Estel commanded, and they were off.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was a few hours into the journey when Thoron asked softly: "Where are we headed?"  
  
Aragorn stiffened for a moment, as he had almost forgotten his new, silent friend.   
  
"Away," he answered vaguely. "Far from Rivendell, from civilization, from home… We go where no one will harm us."  
  
"Where is that?" Thoron requested.  
  
There was no answer.   
  
~You both match, I suppose you could say,~ Thalion told him.  
  
~What do you mean?~ The Elf asked.  
  
~My master was going insane when you found him and saved his life,~ he explained. ~Then he saved yours. He refuses to believe that he has a family, and you don't know your own. You are the Dark, and he is the Light. Or perhaps the other way around… You are both lost, and now you are lost together. It is only a while until one of you is found.~  
  
And that made perfect sense to the horse.   
  
Thoron peered into the distance with his farsighted eyes. They glistened like deep blue water under the noon sun as he spied a thick forest ahead. He called a soft warning to the Man.   
  
Estel merely nodded absently. He was not truly listening. Instead, he was deep in battle with a lost memory.  
  
//The wind played with his hair, making him laugh with joy. He stumbled on his clumsy child's legs through the tall grasses that wound about him like a wild jungle.  
  
"El-ro-hir?" he sang under the warm sunlight. "El-la-dan?"  
  
The brothers had said that they would meet him here, but he could not find them. Yet Estel was a happy little boy, and he ran through the tangled field with glee, chasing butterflies and watching birds.  
  
Then night came.  
  
Every strand of grass loomed over him like a haunted tree; every sound was a rabid wolf or a bloodthirsty Orc. The wind that had made him giggle was now fierce and cold. He started to sob in fear, tripping as he tried to escape the labyrinth of death.  
  
Soon he found a dark wood, filled with more terrible noises. Suddenly, he heard horse's hooves and the clash of swords. A piercing, high-pitched scream ripped through the air.   
  
Estel hid under a bush as the clamor passed. The thorns scratched his skin and drew blood, but he knew that he needed to be quiet.   
  
Hideous voices hurt his sensitive ears as they whispered cruel things to one another.  
  
"What should we do with her?" one cruel voice rasped.  
  
"Leave her," croaked another. "We have no further use for her."  
  
After what felt like an eternity, the black hooves of many horses passed, and then all was silent.  
  
When he left his hideout, there was the most gorgeous Elf he had ever seen lying there upon the earth, dripping red blood all over. She opened her dying eyes and called to him in a melodic voice.  
  
"Ion nin?" she whispered. "Come to me, my precious one."  
  
Estel obeyed, shaking all over with sadness and fear. She held him in her bloody arms, stroking his hair.  
  
"Hannon le, my sunshine, for returning to me. Ada will return for you, my baby, and you must take care of your sister for me. Do you understand?"  
  
He hesitated. Clearly, she mistook him for her baby boy! Then he answered.  
  
"Yes, Mommy," he replied, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I understand."  
  
She smiled, like sunlight through the darkness, and kissed his head. And then the light faded from her beautiful blue eyes and she passed away.//  
  
Aragorn would never forget the day when his innocence was lost. That horrible day when he realized how bad the world was and how his family could not save him from it. A week later, he had begun to train in secret with a sword.   
  
He never discovered where his so-called brothers had been that day.  
  
"Estel!" Thoron cried. "There are deer ahead!"  
  
Aragorn's eyes focused and he drew his bow, sending an arrow with black speckled fletching into the heart of the herd. The cry of a wounded beast sounded, and the deer started to flee, kicking up a trail of dust. Through all of the chaos, Thoron could make out Estel's voice.  
  
"Shoot one, Master Elf! We may not see such food for a while!"  
  
Hands trembling, he strung his own bow and leapt off the horse. Thalion galloped away, chasing his prey.  
  
~I shall return, young master. Do not fear.~  
  
The Elf peered into the fray as he ran, finding a white deer. It was as pure as snowfall, and made his heart faint with joy. But his friend wanted the creature, and he would not be a weakling.  
  
He chased it, making his way through the confusion of leaping animals. The white deer was the fastest of them all, but he was even faster. His bowstring sang and a fine arrow pierced its side. It fell with a cry and stumbled to its knees.  
  
Eagerly, he ran to the felled creature and found it still living. The white fur was stained with red blood. He faltered and knelt beside it, burying his fingers in the coat and retrieving his arrow. Blood streamed from the wound in warm streams that stained his thin hands.   
  
It turned to face him, its huge brown eyes filled with pain and loss. He knew, then, that he had wounded a female with young.  
  
Horrified, he tore a strip from his tunic to staunch the blood, tears trailing down his pale cheeks.   
  
"I'm so sorry…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, so very sorry…"  
  
~Why, my prince? Why have you done this? You promised me that you would always protect me and my people. Why did you lie?~  
  
"I didn't mean to," he sobbed. "I never meant to hurt you…oh, I deserve to die."  
  
~How could you do this, my lord?~   
  
The blood slowed and Thoron watched her eyes glaze and grow dull. He gathered her into his arms, caressing the snowy fur and crying.  
  
~How…could…you?~  
  
The golden light of life forsook her entirely, and he carried her to Estel. The Man held two deer by their ankles. His smile vanished when he saw his comrade.  
  
"Thoron?"  
  
The Elf was a sight, his blond hair tangled and his arms stained with fresh blood. His horrified eyes were red-rimmed and crystal tears trickled down his face as he cradled the dead mother like a lost love, whimpering with sorrow and grief.   
  
He did not speak, and perhaps he could not speak, but Aragorn knew what had occurred. He did not know what to do, though. The poor thing looked so utterly forsaken.  
  
Estel placed his hand on Thoron's thin back. He moaned softly and fell to his knees.  
  
"I broke an oath," he murmured. "I killed her and I broke my oath. I gave her solemn word that I would protect both she and her herds, and I did…this."  
  
Estel was reminded of that horrible day in the forest as he knelt beside him. He was torn. Part of him wanted to let the Elf cry out his pain, but the other was wiser.  
  
"It will be alright," he soothed. "She will forgive you, Thoron. You broke her oath, and now you must redeem yourself."  
  
"How?" Thoron asked.  
  
"By remembering her, and renewing your vow. You can keep protecting them, Master Elf. You won't forget again."  
  
"But we're eating them, Estel!" he sobbed.  
  
"No," Estel reminded him. "I am eating them. You don't need to. I have dried meats and fruits in my pouch."  
  
The Elf looked down and kept stroking the cold body. Estel took her gently away. Thoron screamed and reached for it, but he held him away.  
  
"You're dishonoring her body," he said simply.   
  
The poor thing kept crying, though, as Aragorn dug a grave for her. Out of the corner of his eye, the Man saw Thalion rub his head against the Elf's.  
  
~Why do you weep, my little Elfling?~  
  
~I knew her,~ he said simply. ~I helped her great-grandmother give birth to her grandmother, her grandmother to her mother, and her mother give birth to her. I named her Nimloth, and I promised to always protect her… that is all that I recall. She knew who I was, but I didn't ask for my name. I'll never know, now.~  
  
He gasped as he tried to even his breath, choking on the air. Thalion nuzzled his back comfortingly.  
  
~Shh…~the horse soothed. ~I'm here, child. I shall protect you.~   
  
~Can you protect me from myself?~  
  
The horse had no answer.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Yeah, kind of short, I know…  
  
I saw ROTK on Wednesday. Someone next to me wouldn't shut up, and some jerk screamed, "Haleluya!" when it ended, but it was THE BEST MOVIE IN THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   
  
Sorry…. Legolas was SO HOT! You can totally tell that Peter Jackson wanted it to sound like they had known each other, because he didn't thank Gimli. It was like he was saying. "Thanks for all of our adventures over the years. Here's a new one. Let's make it last."  
  
And the Oliphant vs. Legolas thing…  
  
WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Anyway, I have some time before my B-day party, so here's what you've all been waiting for…the reviews! (I fixed it. Now people without official names can review too! Thanks for letting me know!"  
  
:):):):):):):):):):):):):::::::):):):):):):):):):):):)  
  
Deana: Yeah, you have to love him when he's like that…Makes you want to hold him really tight…I wish… Sorry for the delay!  
  
Elenillor: Thanks! I never left! (See bio) I was studying for midterms that took 5 minutes in actuality…sigh…teachers never tell you that while you're studying, woe is me.  
  
Astievia: Ew! I find that really gross when authors do that! They're BROTHERS, for the Valars' sake! No, just a whole lot of brother stuff…I usually left Elladan and Elrohir to their own business while I was writing fanfiction in my spare time, so now I'm testing them out. Plus, I think that there's MORE then enough Elladan torture to go around! Here's your Elf angst, hot off the oven! Please come again soon!  
  
Shanna1826: ¡Gracias! Intenté ser exacto. Temo que no pueda decirle que qué le sucederá ambos, solamente prometo que Aragorn encontrará Rivendell otra vez. ¡Estoy apesadumbrado que era atrasado!  
  
Gywn: I DO have a real updating problem, don't I? Sorry… You'll have to keep guessing, though, because that's only a bit of it! I have a hyper-active imagination, and a VERY special muse! Thanks for reviewing!  
  
leggylover03: Sorry I was late! I swear that I tried!  
  
Das Blume: I'll make a little Elvish-English glossary at the bottom next time! Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Tis a Pirates Life for I: WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EVERYONE should eat as much sugar as you, if that's the result! Thanks a TON! Sorry for my lateness!   
  
Snuffles2: Whew! It was your bravery that saved me from the wolves today! I salute you! (and swear that some of those people had fangs…shudder) Thanks!   
  
marbienl: Interesting name, and a LONG review…cool! But, dude, I never said it was Saruman. I haven't even MENTIONED Saruman. And, just so you know, it ISN'T SARUMAN! Sorry…I got carried away. But my point is, I'm an original writer, and I'm doing stuff that hasn't been done before. So many people have used Saruman that it isn't original any longer. Plus, if Gandalf didn't have suspicion until he was actually captured, then none of the others will. Thoron is really weak, too, so I don't think that the voice lost and let him have his words back…I think there could be a reason (hint, hint) Thanks for the compliments! I try to make it really angsty! I love stories where you get to cry… This was an enjoyable review, and I loved reading it! It made me feel all warm and fuzzy…  
  
:):):):):):):):):):):):):::::::):):):):):):):):):):):)  
  
THANKS AN OCTILLION, GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
ANYWAY…my muse is busy in my sister's room, ripping up her Chanukah present and using the batteries to power her Doomsday Device…don't look at me. SHE'S the evil genius…  
  
(An explosion fills the air and dead bodies litter the earth)  
  
Of course, I'm worried about being sued. I'm worried that she'll be torn limb from limb when my sister finds out….  
  
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"   
  
(Snort, snort)  
  
"YE SHALT PERISH!"  
  
(Kung-fu time)  
  
Yeah, a bit of over-exaggerating…My sis never says "ye"… 


	8. Tears of Grief

Summary: Legolas was the pride and joy of his father's heart until a tragic experience maims his soul and mind, forcing him to leave everything he has ever known. Aragorn was running away from a world where he felt that he would never fit in. And when their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.  
  
Disclaimer: I'm not Tolkien, but I do own a 6" Legolas standee.  
  
Warnings: Elf torture, angst, violence, harassment, fever, blood, etc. I go along the idea that Arathorn and his wife were both killed, so Aragorn's only family is Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. Aragorn is about twenty and has only recently been told of his heritage. Legolas, for his part, is younger than Elrond, and has only his father for family. Elvish= ~Elvish words~. Flashbacks will be written in //these things//This is my first fic, a.k.a; pardon my mistakes.   
  
Also, plant/animal voices and contacts with plants/animals are portrayed in ~this~ as well. I like to think that animals speak Elvish…  
  
  
  
  
  
After the Storm  
  
  
  
Chapter Eight: Tears of Grief  
  
//He had felt like he was fading. Nothing had seemed to matter any longer, and he was walking in a dream tinged with mist. Life happened, but it didn't. Neither to him, nor to those that he held dear, those he loved above all else. He lived in his world for six months, his painless, deathless dream. It was his sanctuary. He felt no pain, no grief…but he also felt none of his happiness, nor any of the other sensations that made him live at all. It was a compromise that he couldn't feel, alter, or enjoy, but it suited him.  
  
In the beginning, those who healed wounds of mind gathered around him, along with great multitudes of people. They all searched for a cure, one that would not reveal itself to their scrutinizing eyes. Then they stopped caring, and he was left to his own numb devices. He did not mind. He did not care.  
  
Until something woke him up.  
  
It began with the daydreams, more fleeting glimpses of the past, present, or mayhap even future. Images of a young, flawless little Elfling with the most perfect blue eyes had touched his mind, and then passed away, quickly forgotten. Then he had witnessed the living portraits of a fair huntsman fighting with swift, accurate shots, felling great spiders. Sometimes he would spy a thin, disconsolate creature with torn hair and a sad voice, or a dark being wreathed with shadow. Even fewer were the times in which he spied a mortal Man drawing a dirty blade, or the hunter from other dreams with two Man, four small beings, a Dwarf, and what was undoubtedly a Wizard.  
  
All of these came in vast intervals at first, quickly forgotten in the dark oblivion of his mind, and he had only enjoyed a few seconds of pondering them before his thoughts were cleansed away. But soon the visions began to flood him, drowning the Elf until there was only a blinding white light that made him want to scream…  
  
He had opened clouded eyes to the world, feeling weak and miserable. It took all of his strength to call for hot water, undress his thin body, then to slip into the tub. He cleaned his face, and, as he did so, he saw his reflection and froze.  
  
Gone was the proud, strong ruler of Mirkwood, replaced with a tired, disconsolate creature, his hair tangled and skin drawn tightly about his face. His once bright eyes were dead, lifeless and grey, like a strand of grass in winter, and he looked, and felt, plain. Ugly.  
  
He could not imagine why this would be. He did not remember anything at all. He opened his mouth to call for Legolas. His son would know.  
  
A soft croak immerged, unlike his melodious voice, and he closed his eyes, slipping some warm water and rising from the liquid. He dressed, with trouble, and called for a maid.  
  
A timid maiden came, shaking as she did so.  
  
"M-m-milord?" she asked. "W-what d-do you re-request?"  
  
"Find my son," he ordered, reaching for a bottle of fine red wine. "He should not be far."  
  
He had a sudden urge to kiss the Elf, to have an exquisite new bow carved from the best wood he knew of for him, to hug his lovely child…  
  
The maid squeaked.  
  
"Y-your M-majest-ty," she stammered. "L-legolas has been mi-missing f-for six m-months n-now. He-he is s-said t-to be de-dead…"  
  
Thranduil did not move, clutching the bottle like a lifeline as the memories poured forth, the memories that had happened while he saw far off things.  
  
//Being abandoned, ignored, and left to die…//  
  
Red rage obscured his vision, and he narrowed his eyes as anger began to control him, the dragon of fury eating at his control. He began to shake.  
  
//Meat waved in his face, cold snickers, while others only watched in horror…//  
  
"M-m-m-majesty?" she stuttered.  
  
//Others ruling his kingdom, spoiling his throne, sons of Men, Orc-spawn…//  
  
He roared in answer, hurling the glass bottle at her as the monster within him raged its war. She screamed and ducked. The glass shattered, wine dripping like blood on the wall. He approached her, seething with wrath.  
  
"I remember you," he whispered, grasping the fabric of her dress. "I remember your laughter…"  
  
He knew her abuse and betrayal. All of it.   
  
He took a glass shard and stabbed her eyes slowly, enjoying the sounds of her shrieks, her wild, useless thrashing, and the dark red blood that rushed from her eyes and spilt in a swift river down her white cheeks, warming his hands in torrents.  
  
He tore at them again, and then shoved her out of his door, throwing her against the wall.   
  
"Be gone from my sight," he hissed. "Let the blindness tell you what I shall see of your face, hereof."   
  
Her fellows crowded around her, trying to staunch the blood. Thranduil cackled like a madman.  
  
"You came to her, but you abandoned me when I had need of you most! What friends, what army, and what fellowship do you truly hold, then? You shall heal the wounds of body, but you neglect the insane or lost? Look upon my face, then, and see the heart of grief! See yourselves, if you can! See your fate! Dare you look madness and death in the eyes?"  
  
He slammed the door, flooded with emotion. He snatched another wine bottle as sorrow threatened to take him, pouring it down his throat as if to drown his pain. All that he could see was a sea of wine, and all that he tasted was sweet, seducing liquid.  
  
He cradled the tenth to his chest, stroking it and sobbing like the child he felt. His beloved Elfling had been taken from him, far, far away. There would be no life this night. As he felt the cool, soothing glass, he whispered to himself soft words that only he could hear, far into drunkenness, but so very far to go.  
  
"Tonight, you are my only baby," he mumbled. "You shall be the thing that I cherish most, immortal one, and you shall receive all of my love."  
  
Thranduil placed stained lips to the bottle and tipped it into his mouth, knowing that he would drink himself close to death. He did not care.   
  
He wanted to feel the bloody tendrils of mortality, to be kissed by death with cold ice, and to feel pain as he had never known.   
  
He wanted to suffer for his child. His beautiful Legolas; his only source of comfort, and the only one who could be given his undying love was his perfect, blessed little baby.   
  
Where was his glorious offspring? Why had he not returned to his father's arms?  
  
The next bottles began to choke him, making him ill, but he had lost all reason. The wine spilled down his face as his sight blurred and he missed, spreading on his rich garments ones that used to prize so greatly.  
  
Coughing and sobbing, he sank to his bed, dropping the liquor and clutching his sides. His baby…his baby…   
  
He could not feel the aura of beauty that was his son within his mind.  
  
"Y-you w-w-were my only l-l-love le-eft," Thranduil slurred as his breath hitched.   
  
Then all went black.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
He survived, of course. His family had always inherited a high tolerance for wine. Or perhaps the Valar wanted him to live. Thranduil did not know, but the miracle did not keep him from mourning in his own, twisted ways.  
  
Refusing food until it was an eat or perish circumstance, drinking himself to sleep, dressing in black, and never leaving the confines of his room…  
  
He never let himself take the coward's way out, but he loved his son so greatly…  
  
He spent his time reflecting, wondering how he could have been a greater father, if he had ever really needed to punish his child that badly, or if he had ever felt lonely when his father was away.   
  
He was convinced that it would always be his fault.  
  
Time passed again, and he drank less and ate more, leaving his room from time to time in order to preserve his people, or at least those whom had never betrayed him. He worked on documents, perfected battle tactics, and tried, oh how he tried, to fit his mourning in at night, for then it was never cast aside.   
  
He still missed his beautiful Elfling, and he mused over his first reaction if he came home. Would he be angry? Perhaps cold and silent? The most obvious to him would be to take him into his arms and kiss his head, weeping with joy. Would that embarrass him? What if he had truly left only to escape him, and now he hated him?  
  
What if he never returned?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
They had continued.  
  
Estel proved himself as cold as he was gentle, and they continued at the same pace, sometimes even harsher. Thoron did not speak any longer, or even look anyone in the eye. This lasted four long days before Estel spotted him talking quietly to Thalion, nodding or frowned here and there within the silence where the horse 'replied'.  
  
That night, Thoron spoke up again around the campfire, this time to question.  
  
"The forest here is wide," he spoke, apparently to no one in particular. "We could wander for days, weeks, or months, or meet a quicker end in starvation. Here you must plan, or we will surely be lost."  
  
"Why do you care, Aragorn? Why bother? You'll only die, either way, always."  
  
Estel sat up straighter immediately at the reappearance of the silky, cruel voice that he knew so well.  
  
'Then what are your preparations?' he asked the voice.  
  
"None. Let yourself pass away, like dust upon the wind. By sword, suffocation, poison…die. The Elf shall live on."  
  
"Surely, you mean to keep traveling," the Elf continued. "If we halt here, we could be caught by any sort of foul beast…"  
  
Seeing the glaze over his companion's eyes, he whispered, "Please."  
  
The soft plead caught his attention, just as Thoron's harmonious voice had done so many times before, and he willed the voice away.  
  
"I have none," he admitted. "Would you aid me in their making?"  
  
He removed a roll of parchment from a small pouch at his waist, laying it across a stump. Thoron's eyes shone with interest as his thin fingers traced the glossy black ink, through the Shire, along the Bruinen, across the mountains, into Mirkwood, and at last to Rohan. His fingers lingered for a moment longer on Mirkwood, though.  
  
"Why is it called Mirkwood?" he asked, returning to stroke the trees. "How could such a large, green place be made from darkness?"  
  
"Spiders of giant sizes live there, and other filthy creatures, brought with the filth of Sauron," Aragorn explained, finding naught wrong with this curiosity, though his ignorance startled him. Mirkwood was the largest forest on the map, and his friend was obviously a Wood-Elf. "It was once called Greenwood the Great. In these times, it is ruled by King Thranduil, or the Elvenking, as he is known."  
  
His eyes glittered as he spoke the Elf's name.  
  
"What is wrong with this King, that you speak of him with ill will? What cruel deed has he performed?"  
  
"He is a greedy trickster," the Man answered, "who would as soon trade his son for gems as you can blink. I believe that he must be heartless. He doesn't communicate with the Elves of Imladris at all, and, not so long ago, a poor maiden helped by two friends found her way to Rivendell, her eyes gouged brutally by her own ruler!"  
  
"What she do?" he questioned.  
  
"She says that she did naught," Estel replied.  
  
"Why has there not been a rebellion?" Thoron wondered aloud. "If he is truly as cruel as you say, there would have been an uprising."  
  
Next he pointed to Rohan.  
  
"I think that I know this place," he said slowly. "They are famed for their horses, yes? As kind to them as Elvish folk, perhaps. Can we journey here?"  
  
Warm, callused fingers guided his lean hand to a small gathering of trees labeled, 'Trollshaws.'   
  
"Ah, but we are here," he explained gently. "To visit Rohan would be to touch against Rivendell, but all to the west is your dominion."  
  
Thoron shivered and took back his hand, for Estel had brushed a scar across his palm that stirred bad memories.  
  
Estel knew that he had seen almost all to the west of Rivendell, so he gazed further. The Ranger's eyes met the Blue Mountains, and he said slowly, as if hypnotized, "We must go here."  
  
His friend followed his finger and nodded thoughtfully. It was a long ride, true, at least five hundred miles, but the trail beckoned to him as well.  
  
"It will be a wonderful journey, Estel," he said softly.  
  
And far away, the power cackled, for that was just as good, and Vaire kept weaving.  
  
Thalion snorted and nuzzled his beloved Elfling.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
~No one has requested my opinion~ the horse informed Thoron, clearly hurt.   
  
He laughed quietly and kissed his head.  
  
~And what would that be?~ he inquired.  
  
After studying the map, he sighed.  
  
~Rohan, I would suppose. There is fresh, green grass there, and enough water and love to go around. Fine horses are worshiped there, I have heard. Imagine it, my little one! Galloping through the long strands as the wind blows our hair, sunlight shining and freedom from our accursed bindings! We would be freed for eternity.~  
  
Thoron closed his eyes and pictured such a place, until he could smell the sweet plants, and taste clear, fresh water like an elixir of life on his lips..  
  
~Yes, but the Blue Mountains are a new adventure, Thalion, and we could fine all sorts of joys!~  
  
~Newer isn't always better~ the stallion argued. ~The desert heat is new, but it brings death. Gems were new, and they bring greed.~  
  
The Elf said naught, for he had always found a strange attraction to jewels, like the finely crafted beryl in the hilt of Estel's sword that he longed to touch, but feared the reaction. But he knew that his friend had a valid point.  
  
~I shall follow my master to the end, however. He fed me when he and I were younger, and I owe my loyalty. Though I do not love him as much as I hold affection for you, he is still my friend.~  
  
He kept rubbing his head against his true master, and all horses' true master, for they served Elves more readily than Men and Dwarves always.  
  
A warm hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched, moving closer to his animal companion and looking up with frightened eyes. Estel held up a hand in a sign of peace.  
  
"I apologize," the Man assured him. "I had no plans to harm you. I merely wanted to know if you wanted an apple. I found a tree nearby."  
  
He handed him the blood red fruit, unharmed by bruises or hungry bugs. Thoron took it gratefully, and found the skin heated pleasantly by the sun.  
  
"Thank you," he said quietly, taking a bite and savoring the white flesh, the delicious juices, and even the smell of his lunch, for he had been taught to appreciate meals the hard way. Estel watched him with curiosity.  
  
Finally, Thoron squirmed and looked at him with furrowed brows.  
  
"What did I do wrong?" he asked in worry. "Do you plan to toss me from your sight? I know that I am weakened, but I can do other things for you-"  
  
"Close your mouth," Aragorn ordered, and, to his surprise, the Elf shut his lips tightly as if slapped. "I was only observing you," he continued in a softer tone, "because you interest me, greatly so. I have never met anyone quite like you. You are so different from Men and Elves alike, almost a different species entirely."  
  
He looked away in twisted shame, looking at the ground with hard eyes. He knew every possible meaning of what had just been uttered.  
  
Aragorn saddled Thalion's strong back. Thoron climbed behind him, and, as they rode away, he hurled his apple far into the woods. His heart hurt too greatly to finish it.  
  
Thalion felt him withdraw, stiffening with alarm. He nudged the fringes of his friend's mind, only managing to make him curl further inside himself. He was slipping into the very state of mind that had made him want to kill Estel that night not so long ago, a perfect condition for the power that desperately longed to repeat his orders. Orders that would spell death.  
  
But the insides of his body were already frosting with cold malice and shame. His Elfling would do something foolish, very soon indeed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Behold! My masterpiece! Well…kind of.  
  
I had NO excuse for updating this late, and I am SERIOUSLY sorry! Please forgive me!  
  
I don't actually type each story out before posting each chapter, I wing it, really, and, thusly, the result! I do, however, have plans of a sort for chapter 9, so updates SHOULD be faster, but I can't promise anything…  
  
(I did, however, type Oialë, so that should probably mean something…)  
  
Whoa! 61 reviews! This must be a dream…I should sleep more often, if this is the result!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
whitewater-spirit: Thanks! You're the only person on this list whom I didn't let down… :(  
  
Mysterious Jedi: I'm glad to here it. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Lady Laswen: It's nice to have a sympathetic ear. Last week, my muse tried to actually mutate reviews out of pieces of tuna fish/spinach/ banana casserole, but I can't really blame her…no other use for the stuff. Sorry for the lateness!  
  
marbienl: Yes, all animals can both talk to Thoron, and every creature of nature loves him-who can be blamed? It is, however, an exclusively Elvish trait, so Estel's left out. Thoron *might* tell him about the voice, but, knowing me, I probably won't stick to plan… I *love* the length of your reviews! Thank you so much for replying!  
  
Astievia: I love talking to cuddly bunnies, myself…thanks!  
  
leggylover03: Well, merry (belated) Christmas to you as well! Sorry about my s-l-o-w update…  
  
Snuffles2: I'm trying to portray Thalion as a sort of horse-father to Thoron, and a great tapping source for angst-hint, hint. I like the scene, too, and actually added it at last minute. You have to love it when they're all so forlorn…Thanks for the review!  
  
Das Blume: Hmm. That's what I was considering, but I think that he'll need to remember the hard way. Or maybe a nice nightmare… Thanks for the review!  
  
Shanna: ¿Soy uno de sus favoritos? :):) ¡Eso es tan impresionante! Estoy alegre que usted está gozando de la historia. ¡Gracias!  
  
Elenillor: I'm on your list of good stories? Wow…:):) I feel so special! Thanks for reviewing!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
9 reviews for this chapter! Thank you all *so* much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Now for my special muse bulletin:  
  
As I'm sure you'll recall, my muse was last seen making a weapon of nuclear war…  
  
Muse: Yes! I have done it! Now, all will bow down to me, the supreme warrior and ruler of this puny planet! First, Papa John's, then, Fanfiction.net, then, those weird robot operators that have creepy voices, and then, the world! Muh ah ha ha!  
  
(A crash rings through the air as FBI agents break through the windows, holding out cards)  
  
Muse: (squinting at the cards) No interest or taxes for 10 years at Rooms to Go?  
  
Random FBI agent 1#: Uh, no.  
  
(Everyone flips cards around, revealing the other side)  
  
Random FBI agent 2#: We've come for the device!  
  
Muse: NEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
(Hijacks fancy sports car, straps device to the back, and drives away, laughing hysterically)  
  
Muse: You'll never get me alive, coppers!  
  
End bulletin:  
  
I seriously wish that I could say that this was the first time something like this has happened…  
  
Darn…  
  
Next edition: Meet the Doomsday Device! 


	9. The Blade That Pierces

After the Storm  
  
  
  
Chapter Nine: The Blade that Pierces  
  
Eyes.  
  
Red, flaming. Eager to attack, lusting for hot streams of blood, flowing down a pale chin, voracious, always thirsty…  
  
Ai, so thirsty…  
  
His mouth was parched, dried like a puddle in the peak of a drought, and the sides of his throat were stuck together painfully, so that when he spoke in his hoarse, hideous tone, skin was ripped away. When he screamed.  
  
Years of torment had brought him to this, this formidable form that worshiped flames and his own body. This creature that had no gods, no religion, nothing left to believe in. Terrible, fearsome. They cowered before him, they bent to his will, those miserable beasts who dwelled in the mountains.   
  
He was the overlord, and his word was law!   
  
Beautiful, like a pale blossom in a cold spring, a dark night sky like a black sea with floating ships of blazing diamond, or a fire with tongues of bright orange and crimson when angered. His touch was feather-soft, or sharper than the thinnest, most deadly blade.  
  
Only suffering could feed him. He longed to devour it, yearned to grow fat on their cries. Who dared to come before him, to say that they had not gone astray? He who would be marred soon, with whip and ash, he who would perish lonely in his dungeons.   
  
He was the overlord…and his greed's word was law.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Man slept. He did not slumber silently, nor peacefully, but as an animal hunted with arrows, fleeing for his life. He tossed and moaned, calling familiar, yet foreign names.  
  
He disturbed the solemn figure beside him.   
  
Thoron wanted him dead.   
  
Time and pent-up rage at his master had led to this, and now it was too late to halt him. His long, white fingers twitched, longing to grasp his neck, longing to feel the crunch of bones. While his owner could not reach him in voice, not with Thalion guarding him, he could still influence his feelings. Now every passing sentence saw his sanity slipping slowly away.  
  
He hated this filthy mortal, this demon, this slime. His greasy brown hair, his beady black eyes, and his tongue like a snake. He loathed him with fiery passion.   
  
He saw him as little more than an animal.  
  
Reaching forwards, he brushed his fingers to his throat, stroking the sweaty skin. Estel did not wake.  
  
Thoron hissed in delight, a wheezy chuckle that brought shivers to one's spine. As he grappled for a better hold, he was toppled to the earth.  
  
Growling softly, he looked into Thalion's deeply upset, dark brown eyes.   
  
~What are you doing, my Elfling?~  
  
~I am ridding you of rubbish, you vile creature~ he spat, glaring violently. ~Stay back!~  
  
Thalion stared at him with the look of a calm ocean before a storm in his orbs.  
  
~I have not lived as long as I have without learning a few things about imprudent foals~ he warned. ~You are hurting my master, and you will not go unpunished if you try it again~  
  
The gentleness was absent from his deep voice, and now it boomed like thunder in his ears.  
  
Thorn cackled in a high-pitched tone, sounding as if all of his wits had been robbed, a likely event.  
  
~Punished?~ he asked, incredulous. ~Stupid beast! I shall not go scathed from this 'battle'~  
  
With that, he sprang to Aragorn's body…only to smack into a surface like stone. Thalion.  
  
He continued to fling himself through the air, feeling dark bruises stain his delicate skin each time that he made impact. His body screamed with agony, and his vision was soon blurred with pain. His blood burned like flames as it raced through his veins, searing his flesh from the inside.   
  
~Let me pass!~ he howled in rage. ~Let me pass!~  
  
Yet the steed stood there, noble and adamant.  
  
After what felt like an eternity, he slid to the ground, defeated and crestfallen.  
  
Once there, to the horse's shock, he started to cry pathetically and quietly, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. He curled into a tight ball on his side, gripping his knees to his chest and rocking himself. His eyes closed tightly, and his breathing hitched. He soon began to retch with anguish.  
  
~Little one?~ the stallion asked in concern. ~Are you yourself once more?~  
  
A heart-trending sob was his answer.  
  
~Hurt!~ he shrieked. ~Hurt, hurt, hurt! Oh, it hurts!~  
  
He was unconsciously speaking to Thalion of all of his torment. It made the other's heart ache, and he leaned forward to nuzzle his beloved child.  
  
"Thoron?"  
  
Aragorn was awake. His eyes were worried as he knelt beside him.  
  
"What is wrong? Are Orcs about? You must be quieter. You could alert all kinds of foul beings to our presence…"  
  
The animal turned to his master.  
  
~Help him~ he pleaded, hoping that the mortal could comprehend. ~He is broken. You must fix him~  
  
Something in his face must have been desperate enough, for understanding lit in the Man's eyes. He lifted the Elf from the earth, gently pressing his face into his tunic. His strong arms held him securely. Thoron continued to sob within the cloth, his cries muffled. From time to time, he tried feebly to force his babbling tongue into words that his mind could no longer comprehend.  
  
Finally, gradually, he calmed. Aragorn looked at him sadly.  
  
"It is so much trouble," he said softly. "Just to keep you sane and healthy is such a struggle. You owe me much debt, perhaps some that can never be repaid. What happened to you?"  
  
He was silent, save for an occasional hiccup, and he brought himself closer to Estel's beating heart. He was still not entirely recovered, and he convulsed violently.   
  
Thoron was terrified.  
  
He had been entirely under the enemy's control, a puppet to that great power. He could have done anything that his master willed in that state of mind, and his being was still tender to attack.   
  
'What will I do next?' he asked himself in misery. 'What hope is left for me? I should be killed, my ashes scattered over the hillside. I am a traitor to myself, and a danger to everyone that I know.'  
  
"You need to tell me," Aragorn persisted, in a quieter, soothing tone. "We have all of the time in the world."  
  
A whimper escaped his throat, and he felt Thalion nuzzle him, as if from the view of an eagle above. His weakened body had little control, and everything happened slowly, now, like he was a boat with no oar, ruled by the currents of time. Instead of answering, his eyes fluttered shut, emotionally drained by his ordeal.   
  
Aragorn carefully lay him down unto the soft, cool earth. The Elf sighed, rolling to the side and burying his thin, marble fingers in the soil, still trembling. He reached for his friend, nay, his protector, and rested his spare hand on his own.  
  
"Please," he whined softly, pathetically. "Oh, please, don't leave me."  
  
Estel squeezed his hand in careful reassurance.  
  
"It's alright, Thoron," he murmured. "We can be broken together."  
  
His breath evened in slumber.   
  
'Together…'  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You are sure that you will not quest for Aragorn?" Elrond asked sadly. "I cannot convince you otherwise?"  
  
Elrohir growled under his breath.  
  
"I would have you forget his name, Ada," he hissed angrily. "After all of his burden, and all of his curses, I refuse to believe that he is truly the hope of Men. The blood must be tainted in his veins. I am not yet certain that he was not the rightful heir of Sauron."  
  
"You place too great a weight upon his shoulders, my son. He had just been told that every plan he had ever dreamed was ending. He could no longer live a simple, carefree life…"  
  
"No load can be too heavy," he interrupted. "Not after what he has done to Elladan!"  
  
His father excused his rude tongue, recalling the strong bond between the two.  
  
"Where is your brother?" Elrond questioned, frowning. He had not seen the Elf through all of yesterday. He would delay their departure.   
  
Elrohir froze, his eyes widening. Without another word, he raced away, abandoning his horse and his father.  
  
"Elladan!" he called, leaping through the field. Long strands of bright green grass brushed his legs, wet with dew. The cold wind fought his frantic searching. "Brother!"  
  
A dark figure, shielded by the starless night, lay on a clump of particularly unruly grass. He lay limp, like a rag doll that was left out in the rain, features faded away into nothingness.  
  
"Elladan?" he asked fearfully, kneeling beside the other.   
  
The twin's strong hands roused the elder, passing him only by mere moments. A sad face gazed up at him, beautiful eyes wet with tears that marked his face in streaks.  
  
"Oh," he breathed. "Thank the Valar! You're alright!"  
  
Elladan shook his head.  
  
"No," he whispered. "I'm not alright. What if he comes back? What if he thinks that we abandoned him? We've been so close, for so, so long. What if he thinks that I…that we…abandoned him in his time of need? What if he believes that we loathe him?"  
  
Elrohir's eyes burned with the angry radiance of fire.   
  
"What does he matter, brother?" he questioned, voice harsh. "We leave so that he will know his foul deeds, and be filled with regret. We depart so that you may forget."  
  
"Will we keep killing, then?" he asked. "Will we slay Orc until the rivers flow with their black blood? They were not Aragorn's bane: they were our mother's. How do we seek vengeance upon that which we cannot see? How can I ever find peace of mind? I tire of death, Elladan."  
  
"We can make a difference," the younger assured him. "We can save lives this way. The Dùnedan are our allies and friends, and perhaps companionship could ease the pain that the mortal filth has brought upon you."  
  
"Do you remember when he had nightmares, and how he would scamper to us?" Elladan murmured. "Do you remember singing to him when he couldn't sleep, and teaching him to wield a sword? I cannot bear to hate him, brother, despite what he has done. Would you loathe me, had I exacted the same upon your heart?"  
  
Gasping as he rose, wiping the tears from his eyes, he leaned against Elrohir.   
  
"Can we not search for him?"  
  
The other was silent, contemplating his choices. He was torn in two. Aragorn had wounded his twin, and he was overwhelmed with a thirst for vengeance, but, at the same time, the only thing that would restore Elladan was to let him quest for the very Man who had hurt him…  
  
He hated seeing his strong brother so weakened.   
  
"Time is the only cure," he said finally. "He is twisted beyond hope. Trust me, Elladan, I harbor more skill in this matter than you. If you truly hold faith in me, you shall take faith in this as well."   
  
He helped him to rise, noting with glee that his brother had regained some of his former weight.  
  
"Come," he urged. "Let us set out. We should reach the current camp of the Dùnedan in a week's time, if we start now."  
  
Elladan was silent, but his eyes were swirling with emotion, tears gathering in their fair depths. Elrohir squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.   
  
"Do not worry," he told his twin. "All shall be made right."  
  
"How do you know?" the other questioned in a hoarse, tired voice. "Has Elbereth whispered in your eyes, revealing all that is to come?"  
  
"No," Elrohir answered sagely. "My heart has."  
  
Gently, he led him to the horses, and, as the sun began to stain the sky like purple ink, lighting each blade of emerald grass and caressing each cream-colored flower, molding with the trickles of water in small streams, a heavy burden took flight from one heart…and nestled itself in another.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
He awoke feeling drained.  
  
Estel looked as if he had fallen to sleep on watch, perhaps as the sun warmed the cold, night world. He did not wake him, for he dared not trouble him. He was far too frightened.  
  
Was he a child, now? Useless, coddled and protected by his friend? In his soul, he could feel the answer, like the clear, sad cry of a gull. He was useless.  
  
"Do you now see the path that fate has chosen for you? To live your miserable life as an invalid, an infant?"  
  
Thoron started. It was the voice, evil and smooth, cutting through his being.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked through clenched teeth, ready to cry again. Why was the voice back?  
  
"To aid you," it answered. "I can give you a life free from oppression, just you and I, if you would only do as I bid-"  
  
"You have never helped before," the Elf spoke quickly. "You have ruined me, taken everything that I have ever loved. Why do you choose to give me solace, when you have never given me such a luxury before? How can I trust you? Why should I consider your offer?"  
  
"Because, imprudent one," it hissed. "I know hold your essence in my palms, your body, mind, and soul. I can make you do terrible things, things that the strongest would hide in the shadows of, things that you had never dreamed of doing, never in your most revolting nightmares. I can make you feel pain beyond all else, make you see things that aren't real. I can return your memory and then take it away, just to watch you cry. It is out of courtesy that I offer this, my pet, I assure you. You have but begun to taste my powers."  
  
The ghost of a caress brushed his back, and then began to stroke his silky hair. Thoron shivered as lips touched his throat.  
  
"Give me time," he pleaded. "Please."   
  
"Two weeks, I hand you, my pet," the voice murmured, and unseen fingernails dug into his tender skin, making him gasp and stiffen in shock. "Choose wisely. Tell no one of our meeting."  
  
"Yes, master," he croaked. "Yes, I shall think hard on this matter."  
  
Moist air filled his ear, a kiss placed on the graceful tip…then he was alone.  
  
Thalion grunted as he rose, walking slowly to Thoron. He neighed softly, nuzzling his soft cheek, dripping with tears.   
  
~My poor Elfling…~ the stallion sighed with sympathy. ~How can I ease your pain?~  
  
~No!~ he shrieked, making Thalion flinch from surprise at his rapidly morphing emotions. ~No! I am strong! I can handle this alone! I don't need *anyone*, especially not you!~  
  
His voice cracked and he shivered, wrapping thin arms around his frigid body, suffering from inner cold.   
  
~No~ Thalion whispered calmly. ~You cannot. You need aid, young one, a friend, or a family member. Your heart has been poisoned. The ice will take you. The Man can help. I can help. I love you like my own colt.~  
  
~I don't want to be coddled!~ he cried. ~I'm no child! I'm no helpless rabbit! I…~  
  
He trailed off as he realized his folly. He *was* a baby. A vulnerable, spoiled, newborn baby, one so hideous that no mother could ever love him, ever take away his pain. Anger burned inside of him once more, rage for his ill fortune, his pain. Warm blood rushed to his head. He was so, so confused and violent, so enraged and stupid…  
  
A cold nose brushed each tip of his ears, one at a time, pacifying him.  
  
~You're not any of those things, once. You were once truly great, once noble, proud, and strong, able to defend easily any who needed your protection. I feel it in your blood. However, you are hurt, now, and, like a broken leg, you need the right attention, or you shall heal crookedly. You shall be this way forever if you do not accept my love.~  
  
Tenderly, he licked his cheek, ridding it of tears, as if trying to clean the filth from his soul.   
  
~You can act strong with the Man, and still cry your pain to me, little one. You can also consult in him. He needs responsibility, my master does. You will help him accept it. Do not fear! He is gentle, and shall not turn you away from his side. If he did, I would leave as well, and he requires my help to travel. You are safe here.~   
  
'No,' he thought bitterly. 'No, I'm not safe at all.'  
  
Yet he said naught.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Elrond sighed, watching the starless night sky.  
  
His fate could not be ignored, that was certain, but it could wait. After all, this could be the greatest trial of strength, survival, and wisdom that his son had ever faced. Strength, for he would need to ride many long days, fighting off beasts of the wild. Survival, for he would be forced to hunt for his food in places where the Valar had drawn all water out of the soil and withered the plants, requiring him to scavenge for substance often. Lastly, wisdom…he was unconsciously seeking it already, and the journey would give him much, like a wealthy crop discovered by a poor farmer. In turn, it would both bless and curse him with maturity…   
  
Maturity enough to come home.  
  
The years had done what he had thought they would not, and, despite his efforts, he had grown to love the mortal like a son, in a bond that he had never shared with any Man.  
  
With the exception of Elros.  
  
At the thought of his brother, long passed on to a land he could never reach, his heart was stabbed with such sheer anguish and longing that he gasped, clenching his fists to counter the pain. His head grew dizzy for a while, and his vision blurred, like a fresh painting left out in the rain, before steadying once more.  
  
"Why?" he wheezed softly, recovering his breath. "I thought that I had overcome this. I thought that all of my tears had dried."  
  
Suddenly, he was assaulted by the fragrance of Celebrian, and he sank to his knees on the cold earth. The memory of his beautiful wife was too much to bear whilst knowing that he could sail to Valinor now, held back only by duty.   
  
The darkness in the sky spread like spilt ink, devouring trees and blades of grass, its voracious hunger insatiable.   
  
His father's star was dead.  
  
As the frigid blackness touched him, he felt true cold, cold that Elves were not meant to feel. His skin tinged blue and he screamed for help, whilst knowing that no one cared enough to save him. Blood flowed down his body, burning his skin like acid. Red tears flowed down his cheeks.   
  
"Ada!" he screamed. "Naneth! Elros!"   
  
But no one could save him, and the blackness poisoned and twisted him, until all that he could see and feel was blood.  
  
Blood and malice.  
  
~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~  
  
Muh ah ha ha! Yes! Yes! With the final sentence of this chapter, I have created the greatest cliffie so far…  
  
And I'm just getting started.  
  
No, seriously, you will not believe the scale of this story. I plan for this to affect all of Middle-Earth. This is no short tale.  
  
I'm going to warn all of you now…because I'm sick and tired of using this space to apologize.  
  
It wasn't my fault! I swear! Fanfiction.net wouldn't let me upload!  
  
And now, to the wonderful reviewers!   
  
**  
  
FlagGirl01: Thanks for the review! I wasn't aware, acutely, at least, that Thoron had a particular style of reaction to such things ere you responded.  
  
Shanna: ¡Hola otra vez! Aunque no puedo contestar a la mayoría de sus preguntas, diré que Thranduil está de luto fanáticamente porque Legolas era la única familia que permanecía. ¡Gracias!  
  
marbienl: Thanks for telling me about the chapter eight mess-up! I owe you! You also hold a point about WIPs, although finished works take longer to read than one chapter at a time. Vaire is meant to have a ` over the 'e', but my computer won't let me do that. She is, supposedly, the weaver of time. Yes, Thalion does act as a parent to those whom he favors, and, as I think later chapters will reveal, he does show the same love to Estel. Hey, you're right! It's a cliffie! Yay! I'll go eat a muffin, now…  
  
leggylover03: Um, you could be waiting there a long while. I better check back for cobwebs, now and then… (looks back at previous review) Hey, do you want a muffin while you sit?  
  
LegolasLover2003: Yes, Aragorn is pretty clueless in this story, but we'll watch him evolve. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
evil snapple pie: Love that name! Oh, uh, sorry… Aw…you're making me feel all special inside! (Muse: Stop now, before she starts to think she's actually *worth* something in society! Me: Nobody asked you!) Anywho, thank you *so* much for reviewing! It's people like you who make all of this worth it!  
  
Elenillor: Uh…that first bit's a little random to me…It took me a while to figure that out…Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Astievia: Nay, you're not naïve. I had to look it up myself the first time I peeked at Fanfiction. (www.dictionary.com) A muse is a thought, a story idea, a source of inspiration, a guiding spirit, so on and so forth. Also: You think your sister will have a cow? My sister will roast me alive if I don't bend to her every whim!  
  
**  
  
Awesome! You guys rule!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Oh, and:  
  
MUST READ!!  
  
Special thanks to all of those who have me on favorite lists and author alert: Spongeboob squirepants, Elenillor, Lilyoda, TrinityTheSheDevil, Saru Namii, evil snapple pie, Saihitei Seishuku, wadeva, Cheysuli, leggylover03, Ymmas Sirron, marbienl, Soar, kaydi, stardust-creations, WaterSeeress, Emerald Griffin, and quantuminferno! Hey, uh, I don't know a lot of you guys, so…  
  
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
So, where were we with my muse…?  
  
Muse: (laughing) You'll never get it!   
  
Voice: Um, excuse me?  
  
Muse: (whips head around) Huh? Who said that?  
  
Voice: Me.  
  
Muse: Oh no…could it be that I have a, a, a conscience?   
  
(Starts to shriek and tear at her hair, banging her head against the steering wheel)  
  
Voice: Yeah, hey, you gotta stop doing that. I'm not your conscience.   
  
Muse: (sitting upright and acting cold and unfeeling)  
  
Voice: I'm the Doomsday Device. You're smushing me.   
  
(Opens her arms, and…)  
  
Awesome! *Two* cliffies! A record! 


	10. Death of a Father

After the Storm  
  
Chapter Ten: Death of a Father  
  
"He comes."  
  
It was a hiss, silky and cruel. The Orc before him shook with fear, but met his blood-red eyes.   
  
"Shall we send them a greeting, master?"  
  
High-pitched laughter echoed in the great cavern, and the goblin trembled slightly, recalling previous experiences with his lord's cackling.   
  
"Yes," he whispered, "by all means, do so. Do not threaten them with our full muster just yet. Send them a small taste, merely to whet their appetites. Whilst I play with their minds, your Mordraug shall wear them down. Begin with familiar enemies, so that I might gauge their abilities. First, send out wolves, then Orc, followed by Warg Riders. When they are near enough, and skilled enough, send the Mordraug."  
  
"But master," the Orc whimpered. "It seems as though you want them to live-"  
  
Raw pain suddenly coursed through his veins, and he fell to the stone floor, clutching his chest and gasping for breath, even when it ended.  
  
"Yes, you fool!" he cried. "I shall not go unrewarded for my troubles. Once they are wearied at soul, and stronger in body, it shall be better dining to break them, one by one, into slaves. I, too, require substance. I am no god…"  
  
His eyes glittered darkly.  
  
"At least, not yet."   
  
"Yes, master," the filthy beast wheezed as he rose to a kneel. "Soon, the world will know the truth of your dominion. I shall summon Uglut's band, and tell them of their chance to rise in rank. We can afford them, and both he and the others can believe that they have failed at the chance of a lifetime when they breathe their final breaths."   
  
The voice laughed shrilly.  
  
"Ah, Grashnug," he sighed when he was calmed. "You are far more perceptive than the other filth, one of the many reasons why I have appointed you with this task. I give you leave to torture the prisoners tonight, though not to near death, after you inform Uglut of his…mission."  
  
"Yes, master," the Orc answered, eager for his reward.  
  
"You are dismissed."   
  
He shot up, his eyes wide and his face sweaty. Panting heavily, he rose from his bed, grasping a robe and cloaking his body in its warmth. With shaking limbs, he walked to the Great Hall, settling in his favorite armchair, nearest to the fire. Gazing at the comforting orange blur, he managed to catch his hurried breath, smoothing the wrinkles on his once furrowed brow.  
  
The chair had always been a seat of contemplation, of memory. It aided his frantic thoughts, and soothed him.  
  
"Something has happened," Elrond whispered to himself. "Some event has occurred that the Valar did not intend, some wicked power which has escaped…"  
  
He gasped in realization as the answer bobbed to the surface of his thoughts, like a submerged acorn to the sunlit water of a pond.  
  
"Aragorn," he murmured. "It was Aragorn, then."  
  
Rising once more, he strode quickly to the library, eager to drown himself in the text of his oldest scrolls.  
  
Answers needed to be found…and they would be found, tonight.  
  
Elrohir glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. He couldn't be seen, of course, or Elladan would be angered, but he watched him all the same.  
  
He had heard tales. Every Elf had.  
  
Men who stole, and beat, and took their pleasure, and killed. He had thought that their little Estel, so vulnerable and sweet as a child, would never evolve into such a…beast. But just as the baby Warg grows to a predator, the children of Men grow as well. it wasn't an Estel who had nearly killed his brother, nay. It was a grown Estel, something new, and different, and fierce.  
  
An Aragorn.  
  
Elladan bit his lip, as he had so often, fighting tears. He tore open a scab, and blood trickled down his pale, thin face. Elrohir felt his heart rip.  
  
'Oh, Valar, what he's done to you inside, my brother.'  
  
He might have pardoned Estel for running away, but not for this. Never. Never. This wasn't an Estel to be dealt with, an innocent, sweet baby. This was a new breed, and it would be dealt with differently.  
  
"We should set up camp, brother," he called, and Elladan struggled to mask relief. As he slid from his horse, he stumbled, falling to the ground. Elrohir rushed to catch him, but the other pulled away, grasping the tatters of his torn pride, running to fetch firewood, his cadaverous form melting into the darkness.  
  
He wouldn't have hurt an Estel.  
  
He would kill an Aragorn.  
  
The sunlight suddenly shone on them in a brilliant moment, welcoming them from the Trollshaws. Aragorn smiled, and Thalion neighed in glee, prancing around in the open grass for many long moments ere his rider could calm him.   
  
"Do you think that our nightly visitor was the last of its breed?" Thoron asked softly.  
  
Aragorn would have laughed had he not begun to fear the Elf.  
  
"Nay," he answered gravely. "Many more of its foul kin still roam freely about these lands, brooding in the shadows until an innocent strays into their lair. Others rampage at night, rashly seeking their pray. Naught can be done, I fear, when inflicted by two mere travelers."  
  
One traveler Thoron thought sadly, clenching his fists. Estel killed the beast, not I. I am a worthless coward.  
  
Stop that, little one Thalion ordered, his tail brushing against the other's leg as if in admonishment. Why do you do this to yourself? You must be strong.  
  
Ignoring the wise steed, he fell silent, inhaling the sweet aroma of tall, green grass. It felt so perfect to his senses, so flawless. The sun's light tinted it with a flawless, sparkling gold, stirring an unknown feeling within his heart.  
  
"We shall follow the Road, from here," the Man was saying in a disappointed tone. "The next town is in Bree, where we must replenish our supplies. The animals seem to stray from us, now, and the dried fruits are diminished to morsels."  
  
Thoron bit his lip, suddenly both wracked with fear and ashamed of that terror.   
  
Aragorn stiffened in front of him, sensing the aura of pain around the fair being.  
  
"It is absolutely necessary, Thoron," he repeated slowly, placing emphasis on each word. "Do you understand? There is no other way. None."  
  
"I understand," the other answered softly. His grip on Estel's waist wavered, and his arms quaked, despite his efforts. The Man rested a gentle hand on his wrist, squeezing it in reassurance.   
  
"I won't let anything happen to you, my friend."  
  
"I know," he whispered, but his thoughts conflicted.  
  
Friend? he wondered with anger. What friend am I? Nay, more to say that he is my caretaker. What good have I ever done for him? I have been ordered to kill him, and he would call me 'friend.' What can I do?  
  
Fight, my Elfling. Fight.  
  
They rode on, the journey harshened by rain and rock-encrusted terrain. As they traveled, and Thoron's time drew to a close, the Elf grew far more nervous and uncertain, wringing his hands in his sleep, his fair brow creased in pain.   
  
All of the pain could end, if he accepted his aid; that he knew well, but his master would surely want something far worse in return.  
  
"We shall enter Bree in the morn," Estel informed him. The Elf sat in front of the fire, coaxing it to life with long twigs. He had a reticent, and was not expected to reply, but he surprised Aragorn by asking a question.  
  
"They would not harm me, would they?" he whispered, spurring orange sparks into the air. The glow illuminated his pale face, and Aragorn realized just how thin and worn he truly was. "They would not give me pain?"  
  
Estel could feel his heart begin to break, but he had no time to reassure him, ere the Orcs attacked.  
  
All at once, they poured into the campsite, like filthy, black water into a dry lake. Aragorn drew his sword, slicing through the beast's thick legs and puncturing its chest. He made sure to keep his back to a sturdy oak, guarding himself from an unexpected blow.  
  
Silently, he calculated his odds. Eleven Orcs in all, he believed, currently forming a ring around the camp. That, at least, was enough to show that they harbored more intelligence than was usual. Their eyes also glittered darkly, yet with a purpose; these Orcs had a master.  
  
Thoron had unsheathed a small, white blade, merely half the length of a sword. His expression was hardened, and somewhat pained. Biting his lip, he stood in the midst of the circle, surrounded by Orcs. Yet no one moved.  
  
One creature stepped from the ring, kicking the carcass of the Orc that Aragorn had slain. His gaze shifted to the Man, ere it lingered on Thoron's ready stance.  
  
"Look here, boys!" he growled with pleasure. "It's the little Elf. Wasn't nearly so brave last time I spied him, or so armed!"   
  
Estel stiffened as the captain walked to his companion. His putrid breath entered Thoron's nose, forcing him to stifle his urges to choke. Jagged nails dug into the soft flesh of his cheek, pinching a flap of skin. With horror, Aragorn realized that the Orc meant to savor this event.  
  
"Why, the Man has been fattening him up!" the Orc exclaimed in his guttural tone. "He's grown chubby in our absence. What a little pig!"  
  
Then his expression hardened, and dug his nails into his cheek, leaving a long slash that streamed with dark blood. Thoron did not move, paralyzed with fear. His grip loosened, and the dagger swung gently within his grip.  
  
"Maim the Man, but don't kill him!" he ordered. "I want to watch his pain!"  
  
With a roar of sickening bloodlust, the circle closed upon Aragorn. Estel cleaved one Orc's head from its shoulders, but another swung its scythe at his neck. Ducking, he sliced its leg off, stabbing it through the heart. The next Orc dug its blade into his arm, ere Aragorn cut through his waist.  
  
'Seven,' he thought grimly, biting his lip in pain. 'Seven left.'  
  
There was a whinny as Thalion broke free of his bindings, crushing two Orcs beneath his hooves. One Orc sliced his brown side, forcing him to collapse, but the remaining four advanced all once.  
  
With a snarl, the nearest Orc deepened Aragorn's wound, forcing his fingers to drop his blade in a clumsiness induced by blood loss. The young Man screamed in pain as his bone was revealed through the laceration, and another sword bit into his thigh, before he was kicked to the ground. The four tied Aragorn through his thrashing, and threw him before their leader.  
  
Uglut smirked, revealing pointed, rotting teeth.  
  
"So," he sneered, "you thought to escape us?"  
  
He cackled, and, beside him, Thoron started to cry.  
  
"Thalion," he sobbed, clutching his chest. "Thalion!"  
  
He started forward, trying to reach his friend's crumbled body. Orcs quickly barred his way, despite his flailing. The Elf began to wail, and the stallion's dying eyes met his own.  
  
Oh, Elfling he whispered. Oh, my dear, precious child.   
  
Thalion! Thoron cried, with such vigor that the horse winced.  
  
My poor baby… the horse murmured. You know that I love you. Do not cry, please, do not cry.  
  
It hurts so badly he answered, his body torn with longing. He yearned so greatly to stroke his friend's fur, and to soothe his agony. I love you too much to let you go. Do not leave me!  
  
If only, my beautiful Elfling Thalion breathed, his voice straining with effort. If only…  
  
His eyes began to mist over, and his breathing slowed.  
  
"No!" Thoron screeched, clawing past the Orcs. But by the time that he reached him, his body was frozen in death, his eyes twisted in pain and longing: he had come too late to pacify him. "Thalion! Thalion!"  
  
Uglut pulled him away, kicking him until his breathing was deep and harsh. Thoron kept sobbing, writhing with torment.  
  
Irritated, Uglut tore his shirt away, revealing thick scars. The Orc removed his whip from his belt, beating him until he lost consciousness, and could no longer scream. Licking his lips with pleasure, he knelt, licking his blood away, and, when the stream had slowed, sucking on his skin until his thirst was satiated.  
  
"Ah," he sighed, and the Orcs laughed with him. "Set up camp, right here! I think that we can afford some fun before returning to the master!"  
  
Cheers rang out, and they chained their prisoners to the trees, though Thoron was kept nearer to Uglut, and given more leeway.  
  
"I'd be damn surprised if he hasn't lost his wits already," the chieftain grumbled, "and if he crawls into my bed…there's no harm done!"  
  
The Orcs laughed, and the hideous sound made Estel's stomach roll. He almost lost his consciousness, but he fought the darkness long enough to tear his shirt for bandaging. As he struggled to halt the endless flow of crimson, his glazing eyes found Thoron's. With a shudder as he watched their dead, frozen depths, he finally fell, plummeting into a sea of numb blue. Ice seeped through his skin, cutting to his marrow. And then he couldn't feel at all.  
  
Whew! It's been a while! And, for once, it wasn't really my fault. My mom didn't want me wasting my time writing on the web when I could be doing homework or extra credit. The deal was that I couldn't start up again until summer vacation. So…  
  
I'M REALLY, REALLY, REALLY SORRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
I know how hard it is to wait for a story. And so, to the people who probably don't remember me any longer...the one…the only…  
  
Reviewers!  
  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Zoe: Phew! Your review came in just in time to be posted. Thank you SO much!!!!  
  
leggylover03: Update: check. Estel angst: check. My purpose in life has been temporarily fulfilled! Thanks for reviewing!  
  
marbienl: I always look forward to your reviews! You just really take the time to tell me everything, and I love it so much!!!! Your interpretation of Thalion stroking Estel's neck is interesting, as I was going for a slightly different approach, but to each her own! Yes, it isn't over for Elrond quite yet—he has important business to attend to. Whilst I can't reveal the ending, I can promise you that it will be happy. Thanks a TON for reviewing!!!!  
  
Astievia: Oh, Lord…if I was supposed to post back THEN to avoid death…oops. (Urk)  
  
On the matter of younger sisters…you'd be surprised how plain VIOLENT mine is. She throws heavy objects at my head when I change the channel, let alone when I refuse to bend to her on hand and knee. Thank you so much!  
  
Shanna: ¡Hola otra vez, Shanna! Estoy apesadumbrado que no podría escribir antes. Elrond está teniendo sensaciones pyschic (usted es el único quién notó eso!). ¡Gracias por repasar!  
  
tmelange: thank you.  
  
FlagGirl01: Thank you!!  
  
evil snapple pie: Well, although there is a lot of angst, I hope that I got somewhere during this chapter. Believe me, there's nothing that I'd love to do more in this story than snuggle Thoron nice and tight. Oh, and…(looks back and forth suspiciously) don't tell anyone, but our elfling is going to heal a bit in the next chapter. (humans are good for something) Thanks for the review!  
  
silvertoekee: Thanks! No, Elrond didn't die, but I just HAD to add him in. he looked so lonely, there, all by himself… plus, you have no idea what it was like for me…  
  
FLASHBACK  
  
Me: Good morning, Elrond.  
  
Elrond: (stares at me with puppy-dog eyes)  
  
Me: Okay… (backing away slowly)  
  
Me: Good afternoon, Elrond.  
  
Elrond: (doesn't blink, just stares)  
  
Me: Goodnight, Elrond  
  
Elrond: (puppy eyes)  
  
END FLASHBACK  
  
That may be cute on Legolas, but, to be honest, it's just plain creepy on an ancient Elf.  
  
MorierBlackleaf: Thanks! Here's more!  
  
Elenillor: That wasn't technically a review…oh, well. Thanks!  
  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
You guys ROCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
And now, onto my muse!  
  
FBI agents: No! Must…fleeee!  
  
Muse: My own device…tearing my eyeballs…must…run!  
  
(Shrieks and follows the agents in the Gulf)  
  
(All that is left is a pink Carebear, strewn innocently across the dashboard)  
  
May it rest in peace. No, seriously, guys, if my sister finds it… 


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